


Mr Weatherby, the World is Waiting

by InTheYearOfThirtyNine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Brothers, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Loneliness, M/M, Muggle Life, Percy Weasley Redemption, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Weasley Family-centric (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:13:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29310111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheYearOfThirtyNine/pseuds/InTheYearOfThirtyNine
Summary: Life as a simple muggle is turning out to be far more difficult than Percy Weasley ever imagined. A tale of loss, rebirth, love, and... bus passes?
Relationships: Charlie Weasley/Original Male Character(s), Penelope Clearwater/George Weasley, Percy Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**_Chapter One._ **

If the inhabitants of Kestrel Way had looked out of their front windows out on the street one particular stormy morning, they would have noticed coming up the road, a young man with hair of ginger, stumbling as he dragged a heavy trunk beside him. There was no protection for him as the rain struck his body like shrapnel as he struggled to move with the violent gale, making it nearly impossible to remain balanced. The young man moaned and his hand wavered to his clammy forehead. He needed to find the number of that house quickly; he needed a bed to rest in while the after effects of what he had done took its toll over him.

_The Weasley's family grandfather clock stood in the corner of the sitting room, the ominous ticking resounding in the unusually quiet house. For silence to infuse itself into the home of more than half a dozen people was odd enough, especially when the rest of the Wizarding World was still celebrating the downfall of Voldemort. But it was as if this place was separate to the rest of their kind. There was too much pain in this house, too much loss, too much brokenness. Even the Weasley's ghoul seemed to be aware of it and floated noiselessly through the attic. George Weasley sat alone, watching the clock dully, his eyes on the golden hand with his brother's name on it. Fred. The now unmoving hand, in the midst of the rest of the family's. For this was no ordinary clock – it did not tell the time. Instead, around the face there were scattered the name of different locations, and each hand pointed to the location of where said person was situated._

_MINISTRY, SCHOOL, HOME, HOSPITAL, PRISON, LOST, QUIDDITCH, MORTAL PERIL, MISSING and DEATH were some of the places listed. George twitched as Fred's hand remained still, on DEATH. His eyes did nor leave the clock._

The young man almost collapsed outside of the house he had been looking for, sitting heavily on the trunk. The fever was almost making him blind, shadows seemed to drain away the colours around him and his hands clutched to the trunk as if the world was turning and he would slide off.

What had he done

He remembered the burning of his face in humiliation, as he had stood in front of his family, "I was a fool! I was a pompous prat, I was a – a-"

That burgeoning of a smile as Fred had answered his pitiful stuttering, "Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry moron?"

"Yes, I was!"

"Well, you can't say fairer than that."

A cry came from Percy now, as he leant forward, his hands clutching at his hair, heaving sobs. A gut wrenching sob, but nothing would make the guilt go away.

He had abandoned his family.

He had abandoned his family.

He had abandoned his family.

He had been in a position to help. Perhaps something could have been done! Perhaps Fred's life could have been saved, perhaps, _perhaps._ There were so many uncertainties in life, he knew this, but he had also known, being in the ministry he could have done something. He had wanted to return to his family sooner and make amends but he had not till the last minute. And his brother was dead.

A flashback from years ago. The scarlet Hogwarts Express waited as students streamed aboard. His Mother was fondly tidying his robes as she murmured, "Now you'll look after the twins, won't you?"

He had abandoned his family.

_George's gaze strayed for one moment from his twin's hand on the clock, to Percy's. Nothing had penetrated his thoughts since Fred's death, but he did stare at Percy's hand. MISSING._

Gregory Prewett was expecting a client. He looked in the mirror, straightening his tie, pleased with himself. He was his own man now, not having to work for any stuffy boss. Old Watson at the tavern owed him a few quid, saying he'd never make it as a freelance accountant. Wouldn't make it indeed!

He turned his head to the side as he heard something at the front door. It wasn't a knock as such, but more like a thud. He pushed his glasses up and went over to the door, peering through the peep-hole.

At once he opened it, and a young ginger-haired fellow toppled in on to the carpet.

Gregory stepped back at once as the young man leant against the doorframe and pulled himself up. He looked dazed and weak, his skin as pale as parchment.

"Can I help…?" Gregory's voice trailed as he recognised the man's features.

"Please…" Percy murmured, "Please… I need help… I'm Molly's-"

"I know just who you are!" Gregory hissed, "Off with you! Off with you now!"

"No please – I have nowhere to go. I've left… I've left and you're the only one connected to us –"

Gregory laughed at this, "Connected? That's a bit rich, isn't it? I spent my whole life being reminded how I wasn't connected to you lot. You and your tricks and your spells! A squib! You all treated me like a leper. Glad I got out when I did. 'Course, I wasn't expecting any of you to be trying to win favours with me."

The boy was too weak to argue, and a slight jab of guilt swept over the accountant. He hadn't really known Molly too well, only being distant cousins, but she had seemed nice. No matter though, he had sworn he'd never get involved with the likes of those people again.

"What's the matter with you, anyway? You're not going to vomit all over my doorstep, are you?"

The boy slumped to the ground again, miserably, leaning his head in between his knees, "Isn't that kind of sick… I snapped my wand. I mean, wands snap all the time, but… But it's rare for a wizard to snap it himself… Extension of our magic, like breaking an arm… Was expecting some discomfort, but…" the boy's body tremored.

Gregory looked up and down the street, anxious that the client would arrive.

"So you're not going to die then?" he snapped.

Percy moaned, but shook his head, "I'm alone, Sir… I just need some help with adjusting to – to being a Muggle, that's all."

"Adjusting to being a Muggle, eh?" Gregory shuffled back into the house and after a few moments returned.

Percy looked up hopefully but blinked in confusion as a pamphlet fell into his lap.

"Adjusting to life as a muggle?" Gregory chortled, "There's a bus stop just down the road there. And here's the timetable. Do what I did, do it the hard way and figure it out yourself."

The door closed on Percy who could feel a fresh bout of tears springing forth. In spite of this he forced himself up and stumbled along again, dragging his trunk. He shouldn't have expected anything more, anyway.

He closed his eyes, thankful that the storm had subsided a little anyway. What would a muggle bus be like? Would it be like the Knight Bus?

_Mrs. Weasley was now looking at the family clock, her hand on her heart as Percy's hand moved slowly between LOST and MISSING._

_"I don't know what the meaning of this is, Arthur," she whimpered to her husband who was beside her, "I – I saw him go to bed, I-"_

_Arthur squeezed her hand, "Molly sweet, you need to rest."_

_"We have Fred's funeral tomorrow! Arthur, we need to find him!"_

_Her eyes wandered to the clock once more, where the hand finally rested on MISSING. Molly Weasley sank to the couch behind her, confused, but looked up as there was a tentative knock on the sitting-room door._

_"Mum?" Ginny hung by the doorway, uncertainly. Nobody had really spoken for days. It felt peculiar to disturb the silence, "Mum… Percy's things have gone – and I found this."_

_She moved forward finally, holding in her hands the broken pieces of a wand, then handed them over to her mother gently._

_Molly sat there holding the remains of her son's wand tenderly, "But I don't understand – why would he leave? Arthur – Arthur, you need to find him, he can't be far."_


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter Two._ **

Michelle Matthews was pounding down the street, holding her bag over her head in attempts to ward some of the rain off of her during the storm, but even as she was doing this she knew it was a pointless endeavor. She was utterly soaked to the skin – fat lot of good her raincoat did her, she thought as she finally found the bus shelter. Her work uniform was getting drenched. She settled the bag on the ground once she was somewhat protected by the frail walls of the shelter, and sat down. One particular gust of wind and it wouldn't surprise her if it soared away somewhere, like Dorothy's house flew from Kansas to the yellow brick road.

It was when she looked up that she saw the young man curled up on the bus shelter bench, asleep with his head resting on the trunk he had with him. It was the socks she noticed first of all, brutal orange assaulted her eyes, with the words in black _Chudley Cannons_ embroidered, and underneath was a speeding cannonball.

At this moment the young man stirred restlessly in his sleep and opened his eyes. He sat up self-consciously when he noticed he was being watched. Michelle could not help but say faintly, "You can tell a lot about a man from their socks," which resulted in the man's ears turning a shade of light pink.

She straightened and turned back to wait for the bus, "Shouldn't fall asleep at the bus stop," she warned, "I've done that enough times and missed buses. Are you going on the 205?"

She turned to him when she got no reply, and saw he was making a right mess of the timetable, getting confused and turning it upside down.

"Where do you need to go?"

He looked up at her and for the first time she realised he wasn't well. The rain had plastered his ginger hair down on his face, and his skin was pallid and waxen. Redheads always seemed to look pale, but he seemed feverish, "Are you alright there?"

"You talk too much," he mumbled under his breath, "Go away... Your clothes are too loud. Hurts my eyes."

She looked down at the gaudy colours of the uniform dress she wore, the theme of the diner and shifted on her seat. She'd had a lot of pick-up lines in her time, but none like that. She went back to waiting for the bus, but felt a jab of pity for him when he seemed to ball up his sleeves in his fists like a child would do and wipe the mixture of sweat and rain from his face. She spied his tattered jeans and hooded black jumper, and the trunk beside him and said pityingly, "Are you ... Do you have anywhere to go?"

This seemed to bring a little of his spirits back as his hands dropped to his lap and he suddenly straightened, "Pardon? Do you think I'm..."

She turned back to the road then, "Sorry! Just thought…"

"These are my brother's socks!" she heard him say defensively.

"Alright, alright… Sorry… I've got nothing against your socks, really," she looked at her watch, then up the road.

"Cannons are useless anyway," she heard him mutter to himself.

She decided she had best leave it, and searched the pockets of her raincoat, taking out her cassette player.

"Why would you think I look -- everyone wears jeans, right?"

She turned back, "Look, sorry… I just thought… I didn't think anything, alright? Forget it."

"Would it look better if I took the jumper off?"

She sighed and looked at the thin grey shirt he was wearing as he took off the jumper, "I got this from a mugg – from one of those shops here."

"Are you mad? Put the jumper back on, it's freezing. You look fine. I was just concerned because you looked ill," she assured him.

There was silence for a few more moments till she tried to make friendly conversation, "Whereabouts do you live anyway?"

"Oh… Um… I'm not really sure –" he stuttered.

"So you are homeless."

"Well, I suppose, but not - but I -," he stumbled and then his voice trailed when he realised he didn't actually have a point, then looked at the cassette player inquisitively.

She looked down at the cracked and battered object and awkwardly moved it under her coat. It was half falling apart, with a round of sticky tape wrapped around it to keep it together as best she could but it was the only thing she had of... She'd never had the heart to throw it out or replace it with one of those CD walkmans. At that moment she saw the bus ahead and she held her hand out to wave it down. As the bus neared and stopped in front of her she turned to say one last thing to the vulnerable looking young man but was encircled by a a stream of people as they came off at that stop. She had to quickly jump on, and she walked down to find a seat. She turned to look out the window, but he had gone, so she turned to put her music on, before startling she noticed he was on the opposite aisle of seats. He blinked nervously when she caught his eye and stared at him, in surprise, "How… You weren't in front of me. Did you sneak on?"

"No!" he said and shifted on his seat, "I was right behind you, the whole time."

"Oi!"

They both swiveled to the bus driver who was looking in the mirror, and then turned to glare at the man across from her, "You didn't pay your fare! I didn't even see you get on! Pay up or get off!"

The redhead seemed to shrink as the burly driver got off his seat and came marching down. Michelle raised her brow at him and said wryly, "You don't have any change, do you?"

"No… Er, I think I need to run," he moved to stand, awkwardly getting his trunk wedged between the two seats.

Michelle snickered and held out her arm to stop him, "Look, I've got it. Where do you want to go?"

"I… I don't know… I'm not from around here. I was just… I couldn't understand the timetable and then the bus appeared and so I thought I should get on in case…" his words stopped, but his ears turned even pinker than what they had done before. To a nice coral.

Michelle stood as the bus driver approached and emptied some change out to purchase a ticket, "Look, I'm sorry, it's my fault. My friend here is French, he thought I already paid and I thought he could manage… Simple enough mistake."

The bus driver looked down at the young man, who swallowed nervously, his eyes on his feet, and trying to make the story seem true he muttered the only French he knew, "Oui."

The man slowly nodded, taking the money, "Alright… But be careful next time," then he stomped back to his seat.

They said nothing to each other as the bus started its journey, and from her pocket she took out a cassette and set the tape in the player, putting her earphones on. Her eyes drifted shut as the music washed over her. Her shift was over. No more squalling kids, no more picky parents sending back burgers with complaints over the specific orders that they had themselves asked for, no more choreographed dancing for people's birthdays who sat there and secretly found it as awkward as they did. She could go back to her flat and piece together the bits of the old record player she had found in the dumpster on the weekend. Even if it didn't work, even for just aesthetics sake it needed to be rescued. Doing things with her hands always eased her mind.

For a moment Percy watched her, before looking out at the passing scenery. She was visibly clocking off from whatever job she had just come from. He had absolutely no idea what that even felt like. Even as Penny had gabbled with her friends she'd brought back for Friday night drinks from healing school when they had moved in together after Hogwarts, he had timed the amount of respectable sociability expected of him with her group before going into his study and looking over paperwork. He'd even taken files to _bed._ He'd started editing paperwork once one of those nights before the subject had really sunk in that he was reworking and adding notes to the properties of mugwort from Penny's research paper and had hollered out, "Penny!!" with the echo of her friends cracking up in the next room at her having managed to slip it in. "Looooove you, Percyyyyyyy" she had called back to him amongst the giggles, and after his wrist twitched he actually dove back into editing for her. ... Well... Now that he had started...

 _Looooove you, Percyyyyyy._ He shied his thoughts away from that. He went into planning mode. He'd need to find some sort of suitable abode, for the time being perhaps a motel. They were less personal than inns, he could keep himself as distant as he needed to. And then he would have to look for work, of course. Even in his weakened state he was still making lists in his head. The girl got off in a few stops and they gave each other a wave and nod, while he stayed on till he could find an area which looked like it had temporary accomodations.

"Au revoir," she had said from the exit, and he had let out a rush of amused air, keeping his eyes from the bus-driver.

And then she was gone, back into the storm.

Hours later he found himself finally in a room, laying back on the lumpy mattress. Finally allowed to die in peace. His arms were outstretched, as he lay with a lime green CD walkman he had spontaneously purchased on his travels here from the bus trip. At random he had picked a few albums too. The man behind the counter had given him a look at apparently the mish mash of musical genres he had dropped on there to be paid for, but he hadn't cared. He had felt feverish, and perhaps it was part of his illness but he thought there may be something else to it as he listened to the tiny muggle machine. He desperately wanted to clock out.

_Slowly walking down the hall,_

_Faster than a cannonball –_

_Where were you while we were getting high?_

He could feel himself falling in love with muggle music. Or perhaps it was music in general that he was finally discovering for the first time in his life. He had never really paid attention to the passing trends of bands growing up. There always seemed to be far more important things to be worrying and thinking about. Schoolwork and keeping up with politics and climbing the ladder of ambition during school and after graduating. He did remember the others in his year at Hogwarts swooning over a certain singer from the Patchworks who had had purple streaks in his dark hair and wore more makeup than any Knockturn Alley punk, and even though he hadn't thought much of it at the time, he had loved the fact that he had been able to have a poster personally signed for Ginny by the Sugar Quills when he had worked in the ministry. He remembered the day she was born and looking into the cradle, ordering Fred and George to be gentle with the newest addition to the family. The first Weasley girl in generations – she had burrowed herself in his heart that very day, and it pained him now that as they grew older and as he became obsessed with carving his name into history he had allowed that bond to pale.

But he remembered coming home from the ministry one night. He had cleared his throat importantly and said "Ginevra," as she had been helping their Mum with dinner. Ginny had said nothing, rolling her eyes at being called her full name till he had handed her the poster. Her squeal could have woken the dead after she unrolled it and she had thrown herself at Percy, crying out her thanks. He had nodded, "Well, it was difficult to get, I can tell you that, but Mr. Fudge allowed me to speak to them during the press conference, you know how the main singer is always harping on about the protection of magical creatures. She wanted to speak to him you see, all celebrities do of course." That had been a bit of a lie… Well, a blatant lie. Fudge had afforded him no such favour and Percy had waited nearly two hours outside the ministry to get the autograph (he had had a mountain load of work to make up for it the next day), and he cringed at the memory of finally being able to see the band after the long wait and only getting them to sign the poster he had, after mentioning 'as an afterthought' that his brother was close to Harry Potter and that he was 'like one of the family' and showing them a photograph of Harry with all of them.

He lay there as Oasis sang to him, and he pressed the heel of his palms against his closed eyes with a moan at the memory.

_Someday you will find me,_

_caught beneath the landslide..._

"I am such a wanker," he muttered to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter Three._ **

Bill Weasley was sitting alone thoughtfully while waving his wand absentmindedly over a glass of water that he had come down in the middle of the night for. The water shifted and changed, from the deepest of velvety blues to a striking purple. He raised his hand, and with that movement a bubble formed from the glass, moving slowly as if it were dancing in mid-air, circling around like an orb. He sighed and with a flick of his wand the water plopped back into the glass, and became clear again. It was the night after Fred's funeral. Merlin that sounded beyond surreal. He placed his wand on the table, and rubbed his forehead wearily. Crazy, bigger than life Fred. Killed. Surely this wasn't real.

Multitudes of people had come to the funeral, taking a reprieve from the jubilant celebrations of Voldemort's downfall, to pay respects to the fallen young man. So many Filibuster Fireworks had been set off it had been lucky the funeral had not been anywhere near where muggles lived, they would have thought it was the start of another world war. Friends and acquaintances had come from all the houses at Hogwarts. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff - and even a bunch from Slytherin... It seemed that Fred Weasley's popularity had been universal. It had been kept as a celebratory affair, to honour and celebrate his life, with as little sadness as could be managed even though everybody was still in shock. Everybody had had to wear bright robes, colours that would burn your eyes. Bright magentas and violent turquoise and electric purple. Gloominess had been strictly forbidden.

Bill had never felt so sick in his life.

He didn't care if this is what Fred would have wanted. He had wanted to fall to his knees and howl. The day should have been thunderous; it should have been stormy like the day before. The Heavens should have ripped open and pissed an ice-cold shower upon them that would chill them to their cores. But instead it was the epitome of a Summers day.

Fuck Summer. Fuck the warmth. Fuck the colour. Fuck, fuck, _fuck._

Fuck everyone and their laughter, his brother was dead and his other brother George would never be the same. George had been torn in half and people had thought it was suitable because "that's what Fred would have wanted". They could all return to their lives, they could all carry on, they could nurse their superficial pain like an ornament and pack it away when they grew bored and then years later take it back down again, swap stories over a drink, "Remember the time when Fred…" "Remember how he used to…"

Fuck their reminiscing.

The glass shattered without him realising it must have been himself that had caused it. He stared at the broken glass, and the water that poured over the table, dripping on to the floor. Before he could stop himself he had seized his wand once more and directed it at plates, bowls, pans, red sparks destroying at random. Glass flying everywhere. But still he didn't feel better.

He saw her huddling in the doorway before he registered. Her silvery blonde hair in a braid, hanging loosely down the back of her pale blue nightdress.

"Bill…Come to bed," she had said gently, "You will wake ze whole house."

He looked at his beautiful French bride who said nothing about the mess the kitchen was now in, and he dropped his wand, hearing it clatter to the ground. His hand wavered to his marred face, the gift the werewolf Greyback had bestowed upon him when he had slashed and ripped his face two years before.

"I think," he had said hoarsely, "I think there really is a little bit of monster left in me, Fleur."

She glided over to him crossly – only the descendant of a Veela could angrily glide over with such poise and elegance, and she took his hand, "Stop zis nonsense!" her tone brooked no arguments, "You must come to bed."

"Why has he gone, Fleur?"

His voice was now broken, and she tilted her head sadly, her fingers lovingly combing through his long hair, "I don't know," was all she could say, "But Percy will come back. I know it."

He shook his head, "No, no, he's placed the anti-detecting charm on himself. He must have done it before he broke his wand. No owl can find him, I sent half a dozen of them today and they all come back. I checked his account at Gringotts – it's all been cleared out. He's abandoned us Fleur, he's abandoned us and I have no idea why."

Fleur moved closer and nestled herself in his arms, and the madness he had felt only moments previously began to flow out from his muscles as she hummed a silly little French tune. But she could not rid the knot that had begun to tighten in his chest, the realisation that in one fell blow, one death in the family had destroyed all of them.

He followed his wife as she tugged his hand gently out of the kitchen, but he stopped when he heard voices from outside, the front door ajar.

He walked over with Fleur and silently listened.

"It's getting late…"

He heard Angelina Johnson's voice, the girl who Fred had taken to the Yule Ball years ago… She had stayed behind with dozens of the twins friends who had come to the funeral that day. They were all camping out in the field as the next few days there were more commemorative plans for Fred that would occur.

"I know. I'm just waiting," George's voice replied.

George. He had become the shadow of his former self in only a few days. He barely spoke, he –

"For what?" he heard Angelina ask.

"Just Fred. Bum never finishes work on time. He'll be here soon."

Bill froze, his grip on Fleur's hand tightening. Oh no. Oh Merlin no, please.

The shock was evident in Angelina's voice as she whispered with a tremor, "Oh George… Fred is –"

"Running late... He's a real wanker sometimes, isn't he?" Bill could sense the smile in those words.

Angelina was crying softly, and Bill peeked out of the doorway, seeing her sitting beside George and leaning against his shoulder, her body trembling, "Y-yes… H-he is."

George kissed her cheek, "Go to bed. I'm gonna wait up for him. We have a new product we've been working on. Our last test turned one of his eyebrows purple and singed off the other, but I think I've figured out the problem..."

Angelina sobbed some more but obeyed and stood and staggered off into the night where the makeshift campsite was.

Bill felt Fleur touch his back gently, soothingly, and his hand wavered to his face at the shock that George… That George was either delusional or was… Well … Delusional. He turned to Fleur then, the silver of the moon making her pretty face almost glow in the night, and he said so very quietly, "Fleur… I need to find Percy. This family can't… This is madness. I need to find my brother, we can't all break apart like this."


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter Four._ **

Percy was trapped in a tangle of sheets as he still lay on that lumpy mattress in the motel room. Cold sweat had beaded on his face and he moaned as the fever raged through him. He barely remembered having had the lucidity to realise this was worse than he’d thought and managing to get up to collect a bucket and bottle of water. All he remembered was crawling fully clothed back under the covers of the bed after nearly collapsing. He was trembling and managed to discard his jumper on to the floor, and then immediately wished he hadn't as the heat he felt turned to cold chills immediately. But he was too weak to reach down and pull it back on, so he made do with huddling under the sheets. Colours flashed before his eyes, spots of indigo and lime green and he wasn't certain if they were real or not. How long would this last? He moaned and lent over the bed, vomiting in the bucket and then dropped his head back on the pillow. He heard his voice muttering aloud, low and dull incantations that he had not even thought about since Flitwick's classes at school, years ago. In his delirium he was waving his wand hand about feebly.

~

_Swish and flick… Swish and flick… Swish and flick – well done Master Weasley, five points for Gryffindor! See everyone, it's all in the wrist – oh Merlin's sake Miss Fabian, that was deliberate poking in the eye!_

~

_He couldn't quite remember the exact shapes and faces around him, but he remembered he had been excited as he tugged on to his Father's hand, pulling him forward as he walked as fast as he could. He could hear his Father greeting people cheerily as they made their trek through corridors and he had been too young to repress an impolite cry of impatience as his father stopped while talking to someone who was too tall for Percy to see clearly._

_"This is little Percy?" he heard the person say._

_"Right you are Moore, his first trip to the Ministry. The only one of my boys excited to see my desk, I have to bribe Bill and Charlie with half of Honeydukes to get them here!" his father laughed fondly._

_"Look at him though; he's a little Arthur through and through. Obviously a Weasley, look at that hair. Even has your glasses! Poor bugger!" both the man and his father chuckled._

_Percy looked up, trying to see the man's face and said in awe about his Father, "Do you know that my Dad knows the Minister??"_

_Arthur beamed and held his lad close._

~

_He was seven. He remembered he was seven because he had stated blatantly earlier while walking through Diagon Alley that he was now too old to hold his father's hand. Bill and Charlie had just been in Flourish and Blotts and had bought their schoolbooks and now the whole family apart from he were in Quality Quidditch Supplies. Bill was in his third year at Hogwarts and Charlie would be starting his first year and he had never been so jealous in his life. But right at this moment his nose was pressed against the window of Flourish and Blotts looking longingly at the stack of books behind the glass, not taking any notice at the throngs of people entering and exiting the bookshop. The book he wanted was shiny and new and he bet it had that smell all new books had. What he would give to have a room full of new books… This one was all about the universe – it had mesmerising pictures inside, of ginormous supernovas exploding and stars twinkling prettily. He knew this because he had taken a peek at it when they had been inside moments earlier while buying his brothers books. A small ball of resentment twisted in the pit of his stomach. Merlin how he wanted that book! He could never ask for it though… He had always known, from his hand-me-down robes and second hand possessions that there would never be any money for new books - well, books that weren't for school anyway. It had only been that morning he had heard the hushed worried whispers of his parents as they spoke about being able to afford what was on the school list._

_"Ohhh look. A Weasley."_

_Percy had been so distracted by the books behind the glass that he had not known somebody was behind him. But he heard that contemptuous slur and turned, looking up directly in the face of a man Percy only knew by sight, as Mr. Malfoy. Silver-blonde hair hung down the man's back, and his cold grey eyes stared at the young boy. Percy lowered his face uncertainly, and began to search with his eyes for his father, hoping he had come out of the Quidditch shop. But he had not._

_"What gloriously mundane object are you gawking at now, wishing your Father had the money to buy for you?"_

_Percy did not know what to say, but with a flicker of his eyes to the shop window the man had obviously deduced it for himself. His smile curled into a sneer at the book, "Appalling… Can't even buy the basics for his family. Children should long for toys, not accursed books."_

_This was an affront to his dad and Percy said nothing, but swiveled back to the shop window, thinking it best to ignore this nasty man. He was relieved when he saw in the reflection of the glass the man entering the bookshop, and Percy's attention went back to the books in the display._

_But moments later he heard the tinkling of the bell over the shop door and Mr. Malfoy had appeared outside again, staring at him still with disdain but carrying a package in his arms._

_"There you go."_

_Percy looked confused as the man held out the package and he waved it about for Percy to take, "Take it. It's a gift," his voice was smug, "Since your father can't afford the basic necessities for his son."_

_Percy looked at the package longingly. He had been desperate for that book and here it was, wrapped in brown paper and string! He… He really wanted it… But he could detect the insult about his family in the man's words… But he really, truly, madly, desperately wanted it… And it had already been bought… Surely it would be rude to refuse it…_

_He did not know why exactly he hid the book under his jumper after he had accepted it. It wasn't as if he had stolen it or anything. But he had still felt uneasy. Ten or so minutes later his family reappeared from their shopping, Mrs. Weasley smiling fondly at him as she held little Ginny on her hip and Ron toddling beside her. Mr. Weasley was very distracted however with the twins running around his legs. Nobody seemed to notice Percy was hiding something under his jumper, except Charlie who raised his eyebrow at him. Percy said nothing and looked away._

_That night he was in his room flicking through the pages in awe. Every so often he'd close the book and take a whiff of the glorious smell of its newness. It was beautiful and new and all his and --_

_His Father unexpectedly walked in moments later, with a grin, "Perce, want to come outside for a bit? I thought we could - is that one of Charlie's new schoolbooks?"_

_He should have just answered yes, but his ears had turned pink the moment this had been asked. Instead he held the book in his arms tightly and said with a guilty squeak, "No! It was a present…"_

_His father sensed his guilt straightaway and moved slowly to sit at the edge of Percy's bed, "Son, where did you get that book from?"_

_Tears were streaming down his face as his voice bordered on hysteria, "It was a present! It was!"_

_There was silence for a few moments until his father next spoke, and his voice was full of pity, "Please tell me you didn't steal that book, lad… You're my boy remember, my good boy."_

_"I didn't steal it, Dad!" he was utterly mortified at such an accusation, and he finally spilled out, "Mr. Malfoy bought it for me today."_

_He had almost wished he had confessed to stealing it, from the reaction of his father. From the stunned disbelief and heavy disappointment his face had been wearing moments previous that his perfect little rule-abiding boy could ever be tempted to do such a thing as steal, to confusion, to wordless rage._

_"Lucius - Lucius Malfoy bought you that book?"_

_"… Yes."_

_The book was snatched from him at once and Percy cried as his father stormed from the room and down the flights of rickety stairs and narrow hallways. He jumped off his bed and followed him in fear as Mr. Weasley bellowed things from his journey from Percy's bedroom to the sitting-room, "Never in my life! The gall! The gall of that man to prey upon my boy! We're not charity and that bastard is not our benefactor! That smug prat! Ohh, I know exactly why he bought it and he can shove-"_

_Mrs. Weasley rushed into the sitting-room at hearing the rare occurrence of her husband yell, and she looked at a bewildered Bill accusingly, "Bill, what did you do?"_

_"I didn't do anything! Why do you always blame me??"_

_The book was in the flames of the fireplace at once and little Percy was on the carpet at once, crying out as if he were being burned up as the pages curled from their perfect white to ashen black. A thing of beauty tossed to destruction. All the pretty little stars melting away. For one moment, for one small moment something had belonged to him!_

_If it were at all possible, Arthur Weasley's face changed to an even paler white after seeing the damage he had done to his son, and he dropped the fire-stoker at once bending down and scooping Percy up in his arms, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry… I'll buy you a book, I'll buy you another… What book was it? Percy, I'll buy you another one..."_

_Percy could feel his father trembling against him and he nestled further into him, the confused sobs still reverberating from his little body as he watched the pages curl, while Arthur murmured over and over again, "You're my good boy, you're my good boy, Percy…"_

~

_"Oh, another Weasley. You have great ambition, boy, don't you?"_

_He was sitting in front of the whole school on a three-legged stool with the Sorting Hat over his eyes, his very first night at Hogwarts. Thump, thump, thump, went his heart and he was so panicky he felt like it would jump into his mouth._

_"Slytherin would serve those desires well of course, but you aren't that simple… You also have an insatiable love of knowledge which is a Ravenclaw trait… But such valour I see in you! You care very much for those you love, don't you? It's as if those two are battling within you – to make something of yourself for those who love you to be proud. It's separate, but yet the same. I don't even think you know which you desire more. My, my, my, you are difficult indeed to sort… What do you think?"_

_"Gryffindor," the little boy rushed in, "It has to be Gryffindor. We're a whole set."_

_~_

_He was bustling through the crowd of students in the corridors incredibly lost, trying to find his transfigurations class. He straightened his glasses on his nose, looking about, and spotted an older student wearing a green and silver scarf. He tentatively moved up, "Excuse me, but –"_

_The girl looked at him with a sneer, her eyes taking in everything about him, from his frayed robes to his red hair and said with a smirk before flouncing off, "Oh look. Obviously a Weasley."_

_Obviously a Weasley. Obviously a Weasley. Obviously a Weasley. Everywhere he went. He was really getting sick of it…_

~

_"Twenty points to Gryffindor," Snape had drawled as he made his way to the blackboard after a correct answer had been given, "Though I freely admit it does pain me to do so," the Ravenclaws snickered, and even a few of his own Gryffindors did so as well, "It seems unfair doesn't it? Since your family seem to monopolise the points system now."_

_"Thank you Sir. You are most magnanimous," Snape ignored him with a roll of his eye, and Percy caught the eye of one of his very few friends, Darius Masters, a Ravenclaw, sitting besides Penelope Clearwater, who managed to hide a smirk. Penny stifled a giggle too. One of his talents as their school year's sycophant, was that teachers would overlook his sarcasm for being an overwhelming suck-up. Well. It was a useful skill to have, after all._

~

It was late that night that Percy woke from his restless sleep, feeling better. He sat up and immediately felt disgusted at the pungent sweat staining his clothes. He was weak - he needed to eat - but the sickness had left him. He recoiled at the sheets when he noticed he had been sick a few more times and had evidently missed the bucket. His face twitched at the odd memories that had taken over his sleep. He hadn't thought about those in years.

He stood up from the bed and looked at the state it was in, in mortification.

How in Hades did Muggles clean up?


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter Five._ **

Percy was nervously walking down the street surveying the nightlife of a place he was completely unfamiliar with, even though he had been born in the same country. It was still so surreal to him that this place really was such a different world to the one he had been born into and raised. The clothing, the culture, was all so foreign... He was carrying a shopping bag with the things that he had figured out he needed to buy, and his stomach growled. When was the last time he had eaten? The day before, he thought. In spite of the fact he had been ill, then felt sick again after being given instructions on how to clean up sick by an overly helpful old lady in the shop, he was now ravenous. Cafes, shops and restaurants littered the streets, with young rowdy people with odd piercings and dazzling colours in their hair which made Percy think of Nymphadora Tonks, to families enjoying a rare night out all together, to elderly couples holding hands. Percy's eyes fell upon a father with three young boys all vying for his attention and his stomach lurched.

He entered a dingy little all-night delicatessen, glad to see it wasn't very busy. He really just wanted to sit by himself and try and avoid thoughts which he knew in a sick sad sense he would fall victim to anyway. He stared in the cabinet of food, and decided on a sandwich. He had better start with something light since he was just recovering from being ill. The man behind the counter was laughing at a show on one of those television boxes placed above on a cupboard and said sociably to Percy, "Don't you just love Seinfeld? Pity it's ending though, huh? A right real cracker of a show it is."

Percy looked up himself at the moving pictures. A drab, middle-aged nearly bald man wearing glasses was with a woman with dark curly hair and was saying to a skinny bloke, "I just don't see what purpose it's going to serve your going? I mean, you think dead people care who's at the funeral? They don't even know they're having a funeral. It's not like she's hanging out in the back going, "I can't believe Jerry didn't show up!"

The man behind the counter laughed in unison with the canned laughter emitting from the box and Percy suddenly felt ill again, his hand wavering to his forehead.

The woman on the screen with the balding man answered without missing a beat, "Maybe she's there in spirit. How about that?"

"If you're a spirit, and you can travel to other dimensions and galaxies, and find out the mysteries of the universe, you think she's going to want to hang around Drexler's funeral home on Ocean Parkway?" he answered in disbelief, and before Percy knew what was happening, the cold fresh air slapped him soberingly in the face as he stumbled from the grimy little place and decided that he could wait until later to eat.

He stumbled down the street as if hounds were chasing him, before a cramp erupted in his side and he had no more strength to run. He stood hunched over, breathing heavily. If his family were to have ever forgiven him for his betrayal – they had of course offered it jubilantly before the final battle, but that was before everything – the olive branch would definitely wither after the funeral. Missing his younger brother's funeral – that was indefensible.

But how could he even think to go? How could he face any of them? He had broken his mother's heart, hurt his father with cruel words, earned his elder brothers' disgust, George would surely loathe him when he fully began to realise he could have perhaps done something in the ministry with his contacts before Fred was killed to prevent it, and then there was Ron and little Ginny… But his crimes were not just exclusive to his family. How could he face Harry again? He had been responsible for several slanderous articles about him in the Daily Prophet and had done other terrible things concerning him, and now that he was with Ginny… Surely he would be the replacement in the family for everyone. And Professor Dumbledore! He remembered the now shameful excitement that had pumped through his veins of anticipation, as he had fled his office at Hogwarts those years ago to deliver news to the newspaper as Fudge had attempted to take Professor Dumbledore to Azkaban. Dumbledore who had always been kind to him…

And _Penny…_

He had turned his back on Penny… He suddenly remembered an old memory.

_A soft warm hand gripped his as he was patrolling the corridors in the evening for students running late back to their house common-rooms after their curfew, and pulled him behind one of the suits of armour. Penelope giggled at his shock, but her mouth was already upon his._

_"Penny…" he gasped for air in one moment's freedom from her kisses, "We need to stop doing this… I'm head-boy now… We can't keep doing this…"_

_She giggled again, her mouth at his neck, "I know we do," was her muffled reply, yet neither of them moved away from their secret corner._

No! He thought viciously, you will not think of her! You will not think of what you did – or more correctly – what you _didn't_ do for her. That is the one betrayal that will break the hippogriff's back and completely overwhelm you.

But who in the hell had that boy been? What had happened to the Weasley boy his parents had raised? Why had it been so easy for him to discard all loyalties for his ambition? How could he have written that letter to Ron years ago imploring him to break his friendship with Harry and even insinuate that he might be violent and unhinged? Being on the other side of the war now he found it unfathomable how he had lost all complete reason. Harry had been a decent kid and a good friend of his little brother. Had it been jealousy, that his Mother had embraced Harry like another son without thought? Had it been resentment that Harry had been so easily welcomed into the family by his brothers and sister? He had seemed to fit in effortlessly, slip into the heart of the family without fuss in such a way that Percy knew he had never managed, and he had been _born_ into that family. He knew he himself had been a pompous git, but it had seemed to have become such a mask that he had forgotten after awhile it had been one. But the sniggers and mockery of his brothers always seemed to penetrate that armour, and instead of letting it roll off his back like he should have done it had made him more defensive, more arrogant, more conceited, more desperate to be accepted and loved.

Bill was like a rockstar with his long hair and confidence, Charlie had studied and worked with dragons in Romania, the twins lit up any room with their antics, Ron was the baby brother, Ginny the treasured girl. And what in the hell had he himself been? The awkward one who had to shout to be noticed, the _good_ son, the _good_ prefect, the _good_ head boy. Predictable, arrogant, rule-abiding, respectable, upright, boring, _Perfect Percy._ Was it such a crime that he wished he could have been the one his brothers had gone to when they needed help? That that had been part of the reason he had written that letter to Ron, if he were to be completely truthful with himself? It had been an inner plea – forget Harry and come to me. I'm your brother. He had been the reputable Weasley, yet still there had always been this great distance between himself and his siblings, and one he had never seemed to have been able to bridge. And then along came Harry Potter, the orphaned and famous Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. He had inserted himself into the family as if he had always been there.

Percy felt shame that he still felt a twinge of envy concerning him… And was that all it had been? Had he been such a... Such a _prat_ out of mere jealousy? Had it been just jealousy that had never made him act and help his family, where the cost had been the life of his baby brother? Had he really been that petty and ridiculous? Was he still that petty and ridiculous?

He stood up and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jumper where tears had begun to flow. He had to stop thinking about it all. He knew he was a failure and reprehensible, it would just destroy him if he lingered on that clear fact. He had been worse than any Slytherin. A Slytherin never concealed their ambitions, their willingness to step over those close to them for their own means. His best friend, dark haired Morgan, had been a proud snake and she had always laughed in glee at her little plots, regaling him in all the strings pulling, her arms linked through his as they traipsed through Hogsmeade. But he had masqueraded under the gold and scarlet of Gryffindor where he had felt justified because he felt he wasn't as bad as all that. He wasn't a Slytherin, so it was fine. And of course that justification and willful ignorance of his own faults had been his defeat. The Sorting Hat had said he had had such valour. Valour!

He needed to go back to the motel and scrub those stains till his hands became red raw and blistered from the effort. He deserved nothing more than to slave away as a Muggle, he had ruined so much.

He headed back.

~

"Right."

Percy Weasley was staring at his opponent intently, his arms folded and his mouth in a slight frown. He had cleaned up the mess, scrubbed it clean. Now all that was left was this part. The vacuum cleaner sat in a heap, blankly.

Percy's hands dropped to his side, "Right," he repeated again, "This isn't impossible. It's a Muggle invention. How hard can it be?"

He circled the vacuum cleaner, still looking at it, surveying it, reviewing it. He bent down on his haunches, his fingers tracing the sack-like part of the device, "I'm assuming," he continued to speak to himself, "That you are where all the filth goes into," he picked up the long pipe and nodded satisfied, "And you are the suction part which swallows all the filth. Well, that's quite obvious. You are a sucking machine," it was all a bit primitive, but Muggles had to make do with what they had, didn't they?

He picked up what was definitely recognisable to him. A long power cord with a plug at the end of it. His Father had a whole load of them in his shed, and Percy knew that these were supposed to connect to a contraption on a wall called a socket. He stood and scanned the bottom of the walls in his room till he eagerly found one, then moved over and connected the plug to the socket. He felt immensely pleased with himself. The nerves he hadn't acknowledged to himself having had moments previous subsided somewhat. This was easy. He told himself to think of it as one of those practical exams he had had to endure for his O.W.L.'s back in the day. He sniggered to himself, yes, it definitely would have been something that would have cropped up in an O.W.L. exam and not a N.E.W.T. because let's be honest. As if anybody would take Muggle Studies when furthering their education, unless they didn't achieve many O.W.L.'s and had to out of desperation. Yes. That's all it was. If a fifteen year old could figure out a vacuum cleaner, than he most certainly could too. He remembered Professor Burbage, the bright and bubbly Muggles Studies teacher in his third year at Hogwarts and how she would spring surprise tests on them – how to use a telephone, how to heat up a sticky date pudding in what was called a macrowave, and other useless activities like that.

He confidently turned the power switch on the socket; then moved over to the vacuum. Searching for an "on" switch he found it. Immediately the vacuum came to life, but it let out such a monstrous roar that Percy stumbled back and tripped over his own feet, landing hard with his elbow awkwardly on the floor. He hissed in pain and swore, "Holy Order of Merlin!" and clapped his hands over his ears. Would that noise go away? Was it just because it was warming up or was it supposed to bellow thunderously? After a few moments he realised it wasn't going to stop, so he pulled himself up, rubbing his elbow with a wince and hesitantly moved over to it.

"Okay," his voice wasn't as confident as he would have liked, "Alright, there's no need to be temperamental, I'm just going to clean up a bit, alright? I'll turn you back off in a minute," he took hold of the pipe and moved over to the stains, placing the cleaning head on to the carpet. He kept it down there; then moved it about over the carpet. Huh. This wasn't so very bad. In fact, he felt a bit more confident and decided to vacuum more around the place. He laughed to himself as he saw bits of dust and lint here and there, and he trotted over to them with the pipe in his hand, laughing as they were all sucked up. It was like one of those little Nifflers, the creatures with the long snouts that search for treasure. He dropped the pipe and ran over to the little desk with complimentary tea and coffee and he seized a few packets of sugar and ripped them open, pouring them around the place. Then he grabbed his little Niffler vacuum one more time and cleaned up the specks of white. Muggles had it easy – cleaning was rather fun, when he thought about it.

After awhile he turned the vacuum off, and patted it with a smile, "Well, we didn't do too badly then, did we? That was easy to master," he said self-satisfied.

He sat down on the couch, looking around for the first real time, having been sick previously and unable to care much about his lodgings. It was a half decent motel. The mattress was appalling and would give him a bad back if he tarried here for too long, but it was at least clean. There was one of those television boxes and telephones and a little refrigerator. He wasn't sure if they were considered luxury items in the Muggle world or whether everybody had them, so he couldn't really say if it were a decent place. Although he had a feeling it wasn't that spectacular. There were faint traces of cobwebs in corners and the furniture looked old. But it would do, he wasn't complaining.

Though he had to smirk a little, he had gotten used to a certain standard working for the Minister. He had always had rooms adjoining him when they went away on business matters and they had been put in the most extravagant rooms, with desks of mahogany, leather seats and delicate lace netting adorning the windows spun by the Asrais fairies. These creatures were never seen during the daylight else they would melt away into pools of water, so their lace was of the purest white, as it was crafted under the black of night and was not spoiled by the sun's rays.

...Well…

Er…

The Minister had enjoyed the ivory lace and the luxury of course, having the best rooms, being the Minister and all, but his own rooms had always been nice too of course. And he was always very keen to have the Minister store some of his luggage in Percy's room – he was the Minister after all and had to bring plenty of cases. Percy was only too happy to be of some assistance. In fact, even just being with somebody who had such luxury as their right was an honour in itself. Percy nodded to himself at that, then stood to enter the bathroom.

He stopped after searching for what they called the light switch with his hand and turned it on.

His eyes scanned the room, and he had to sigh ruefully.

This shoebox of a bathroom in a mediocre at best motel was bigger than any he had been given while on trips with the Minister.

Merlin, he had been an abused assistant.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. :) Hope you're enjoying this so far. Please let me know if you have any thoughts.

**_Chapter Six._ **

Percy woke up with dread in his belly.

He had to get this over with. To start an entirely new life he had to find the scum of the earth.

Before he had left home he had been to Gringotts and had emptied his account and converted the currency into muggle money. He sighed as he took the wads out of a brown paper bag and sat down on the carpet. The fact they were paper was so… Odd. He kept touching them, his fingers brushing over the sterling paper. He divided them into separate piles of the approximate amount of what was needed and set them before him.

It hurt.

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

There was one large pile – what he was sure he would owe Latinus when he came through with all of the papers. He wasn't stupid, he'd never give him this money until it was all settled. Then he had had to divide the small amount of the rest into his other needs.

A second much smaller pile was for the suits he would need to order – they really were a necessity, he kept on trying to tell himself as if he were trying to justify that purchase. If I don't have suits I won't be able to sit for interviews or have clothes for work. He had loved his dress robes at home but he would give credit where credit was due, with Muggles. Their business attire was on point. And it's all about how one innately feels about themselves anyway. If one just wears jeans and a shirt, then how are they going to ever aspire to be anything? It's simple logic. Really. Truly. The suits were needed. They were… An investment of sorts. Yes. An investment.

The third pile was for the payment of the motel room and a bond for a more permanent arrangement, and the fourth was what he had left, for food and other things. It wasn't a very big pile and he sighed. It pained him not to have much in his savings, it actually made him inwardly wince. He had always prided himself on having enough for a rainy day or even for something superficial as in to ensure he could purchase really decent birthday and Christmas presents for his family.

But he had dawdled enough. He really needed to go see Latinus and get everything organized… He hadn't wanted to ever use magic again (besides the time he had panicked and apparated on the bus), but he had no idea how to get there otherwise. After he had breakfasted and washed and dressed, he sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. He thought of the alleyway to the… Er… Office… He was looking for. He immediately felt the familiar feeling of being forced through a very tight rubber tube and after a few moments opened his eyes, to the dirty and grimy alleyway he had (unfortunately) remembered.

Percy moved forward, sighing and seated himself on the gutter, waiting for Latinus Armstrong, a man who he had regrettably encountered a couple of years ago when he had been Junior Assistant to Fudge. He had to appear sometime and Percy had nothing else to do anyway, but wait. He was a wizard living in the Muggle world, taking advantage of criminals needing to escape the wizarding world for a new life, or squibs who needed new papers coming to live here in Muggle London. He had even assisted a few Death Eaters in the previous war who had tried but failed to lie to the Ministry that they had been under the Imperius Curse when doing You-Know-Who's bidding and had to make a new life for themselves. Or Death Eaters who were trying to hide from enemies they made after dobbing others in to save their own skins. It seemed there was never a shortage of people who wished to masquerade under another identity, and so his business (of sorts) had flourished over the years. Unfortunately Latinus was quite the craftsman with his work and didn't leave much of a trail that had been hoped for when he had been put to trial. He had just gotten a severe warning from the Ministry when Percy was there – in fact, it was Percy who had done research for the prosecution.

He never thought _that_ would come back to bite him on the arse.

It was one of those cases where everybody knew Latinus was guilty, but he had had friends in high places himself and so managed to continue his evading of the law. And he would continue to bleed either criminals or desperate people out of their savings. He was a Metamorphmagus, like Nymphadora Tonks, a rare person who could alter their appearances at whim. Tonks had used it for good being an auror – Latinus had decided to use his natural skill for a less noble occupation.

It was after awhile that Percy looked up, hearing a luggage trolley squeaking down the alleyway. A very old lady, hunched over, was limping along, dragging it behind her. Her few belongings lay scattered inside and her clothing looked old and worn, her dirty pink cardigan far too small for her. Percy watched her until she was about to move past him, and that's when he struck, standing up quickly and grabbing her frail old arm tightly, "Stop with the games, Latinus!"

The old woman looked up at him in terror, a frightened whimper coming from her toothless mouth and she started pleading for the stranger to leave her be – but Percy would have none of it, "I recognise you because you stink the same, Latinus. Of cheap rum and corruption. You need a bath!"

The old woman seemed to shake and then to shrivel up, until she did not exist any longer and instead stood a stout man with oily brown hair – still in the old lady's pink cardigan.

"Oh now, that wounds me _Weatherby,"_ Latinus said with a sneer, "I bathe every Tuesday."

Inwardly Percy winced – it seemed old names from the Ministry stuck over the years, even from the other side of the law.

"The ministry cleared me," the conman continued, "Couldn't prove nothin'. So what are you doing here? And dressed like a bleeding Muggle too. The Ministry sent you to give me an official apology for the mistreatment I received before? Aww, how touching… But it'll do you no good without a box of Honeyduke's finest. I'm fond of the liqueurs."

"Shut up Latinus," Percy did not like to admit it, but he may as well get this whole sordid business out of the way, so he added as emotionless as he could, "I require services from you."

Latinus looked him up and down skeptically, then shrugged. From his pockets he pulled out his wand and after doing several complicated swishes with his wrist, the brick wall Percy had sat in front of seemed to tear apart at the seams, giving room for a dirty and small building. Latinus then took out a key and gestured for Percy to follow after he unlocked the door. The room smelled disgustingly of cat piss, and dust lay around as thick as icing on a birthday cake, as they moved into another room where Percy gingerly sat down on a chair, and Latinus busied about making a pot of tea.

"What do you want anyway?" he asked as he moved about.

"Identification…It's a long story, but you're not paid to know details, so let's leave it at that," Percy said stiffly.

"Well spoken," Latinus said and turned giving Percy a cup of tea.

He looked down into the liquid hesitantly, but decided he'd have to be polite somewhat if he wanted to remain on the good side, so he took a sip.

"So… You say you want papers," Latinus said curiously.

A feeling of calm seemed to swell through Percy, and he answered comfortably, "Mm… Social security, proof of age… I know you can get me some sort of education equivalent papers so I can enter what these Muggles call universities, I'll need a career so I suppose I'll need to study for one... I know I could just have you forge a university certificate for me, but I have a feeling I'll actually need to know what I'm doing in whatever occupation I choose. I really just want everything you can provide for me to gain a whole new life. A new birth certificate, a new name – I want all of this all placed in the Muggles Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages, I know you can do that, so it's all official and legal, and I actually exist. I want a driver's licen-"

Oddly enough Latinus shook his head, "No, no, lad. No, trust me on this. You go for your license. Learn how to use one of them automobiles. I'll not provide you with that."

"Pardon?" Percy asked, confused about the man's hesitance.

"You'll need to learn it good and proper," he answered.

Percy laughed a little, "Come off it. It can't be that difficult. They're Muggles."

"Is that tea, alright? Need any more sugar?" Latinus asked.

Percy shook his head and took another sip, "It’s dreadful but nothing could improve it, thank you," he blinked at being so forthright.

"Why do you want these papers anyway? You tried to have me charged before, how do I know this isn't some trick?" he asked sharply.

A sudden rush seemed to overcome Percy, and everything blurted out. How he had been a fool, how he had betrayed his family. How he felt responsible that his brother had been killed at the battle. How he could have used his Ministry contacts to help. How he had seen so many friends sent to Azkaban, how he had sat through all of their trials, how he had let Penny down. All of his feelings that his family either must or should hate him, how he had snapped his own wand… Penny, Penny, always Penny in the circular room of courtroom 10 at the Ministry - 

Latinus held up his hand to stop him continuing, "Voldemort's defeat has done pretty well for business, you know. You lot are all pissing yourselves to get out and make a new life out here. Although I suppose it would have been the same if he had won, just a load of different people on the run. What is it that they say – one man's war is another man's gold mine? Anyway, enough, that's a satisfactory answer."

Percy suddenly looked at the little mole in horrified comprehension, "YOU LACED MY TEA WITH VERITASERUM!" he shoved the cup aside on to the table savagely, tea sloshing everywhere.

Latinus laughed, "You're a naïve one Weatherby."

"That's underhanded!"

Latinus shrugged and held out his hands placatingly, "I'm an underhanded man," there was a pause, "Was she pretty, your lass? Just how far would you go for her forgiveness?"

Percy's face contorted in agony as if he were fighting answering that, and fortunately for him Latinus laughed again, "Don't need to answer that boy. I shouldn't rile my customers. Customers are friends after all."

Latinus grinned and threw over a small bottle that Percy caught, "Here's the antidote... You're lucky I'm kind. You gave me a lot of trouble trying to suck up to old Fudge, what an arse kisser you were."

Percy uncorked the bottle and gulped down the liquid in one go, then said panting, "So… You'll do it?"

"On one condition."

Percy stared at him, silence in the room for a few moments, till he said, "Well, what is it?"

Latinus lent forward and said mysteriously, "You need to break into Gringotts for me, in the dead of night. There is somethin’ those goblins owe me."

Percy stared at him blankly till the man cackled in a disturbingly entertained way, slapping his knees, "Love saying that to you desperate folk, you fall for it every time," he faked a look of horror, "It's so worth it, if only you'd had a mirror!"

"You're a horrid person," Percy said disgustedly.

Latinus still chuckled a little, but calmed himself, "Aye, that I am. But of the necessary sort."

"You take advantage of desperation. I think you might find now that You-Know-Who has been defeated, they'll start weedling out corruption like this. You think you're doing so well, but you might not be as –" Percy began pretentiously.

"Oh, don't be naïve Weatherby, there's always going to be corruption. But when you've quite finished being a prat; I'll give you the cost of my little favour," Latinus interrupted him.

When Latinus saw that the boy was now quiet, he then continued, "Right, well, you're asking for a new name. What do you fancy? What about Weatherby for old times sake?" he sniggered.

Percy tensed at the reminder and brokenly answered ignored this jab, "My name will be the same but with a different surname. Percy Ignatius ..." He paused. He had always been a Weasley. It was as he had said to the Sorting Hat. They were all a set.

"Sheesh," Latinus snorted, "Who'd name their brat Percy Ignatius?"

_"My mother!"_

Latinus giggled at his offense and continued, "You mean you don't want to change that name though? What a toffee-nosed snot you really are. Blimey."

Percy lent back saying nothing, and Latinus added, "Right then, Percy Ignatius. If you go by Weatherby, I’ll give a discount.” He chortled and chortled.

Percy closed his eyes and didn’t say anything.

Latinus continued, “I can give you everything you ask for, right? And a little more, because I know everything that you need and I know how the system works. But no fake driver's license. I know you look at me like that, but trust me lad –"

Percy opened his eyes and interrupted him, "But I've seen how they're used. Pull a few knobs; push some buttons, how difficult can that be?"

"Trust me lad," Latinus replied firmly, "You'll need to learn. I may be a criminal but I'm having no arrogant fool's death on my hands. I'm lucky with the Ministry that they leave me alone but nobody wants a death that can be traced back to them. I'm not fond of the idea of Azkaban, or having to see a mother's grief photographed in the papers. Hear me?"

"Fine," Percy surrendered sullenly.

"Good, now…" Latinus pulled out a quill, ink and paper and wrote a number down, "Here's my price."

Percy took the paper and looked down at it in horror. He had always been so proud of himself that he had saved most of his money over the years as well as a miser would. The hidden fear of being poor again had forced himself not to buy a lot of luxuries. But… But if he was to buy a new life, it seemed all that money would be gone.

"What about –" Percy began.

"No –"

"But –" Percy began again.

"No! Look, I have a stream of clients now. I don't need you. Take it or leave it."

All… All his money… Saved… All of that money… Almost five years worth of salary… All gone.

… Latinus paused, took the paper back and scratched in another amount. “Because I do appreciate a good joke. Come on. A discount. For Weatherby.”

Percy sat there, his stomach roiling. That name from an indifferent employer who he had also failed. It… Would be penance of a sort. And nobody would ever think to look for Percy Weatherby. He was too arrogant to even use that as a joke, himself. … The “discount” wasn’t much of course. It was Latinus being a prat. But it would mean a couple more suits at least.

After he had reluctantly agreed, he stood, and left the sordid office of Latinus Armstrong. He had forged a new life for himself, but because of the process he was to lose all of his savings. He had nothing now to his name. Well, to the name of Percy Weasley, anyway. Percy Weasley was now nothing. He really was starting all over again.

Poor and sickleless, Percy Weatherby dug his hands into the pockets of his trousers and walked back to the motel.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter Seven._ **

_"Percy, please! You can help me!" her voice had been shrill and hysterical, "You work at the Ministry, you can vouch for me!"_

With a grunt; and with those words still ringing in his ears Percy woke and moved to his other side before realizing he was on the couch and not a bed, landing on a heap on the floor. It took him a few moments to gain his bearings and realise where he was and that was not a comforting thought. He stumbled to his feet after picking up and placing on his glasses he had thrown on the floor before going to sleep and headed towards the bathroom. He blinked as he saw his reflection in the mirror. He was still in the Muggle clothes he had been wearing the previous day, and immediately distaste rose through him at his unkempt appearance. A flicker of vanity bubbled within him, and his hand moved to his disheveled hair. He had the distinct impression that it had not been the few hours of sleep that had given it that sort of look, but that it had been like that the whole time he had been in Muggle London. Lines had etched themselves into his face and he looked pale, and if it were possible, gaunt. His eyes looked hollow, and added to that his clothes were old and worn looking.

The flicker of vanity turned to a flood of humiliation. What had that girl thought of him, lying alone and asleep at the bus stop? She had asked if he were homeless with such pity, and for the first time he realised why she had thought such a thing. He had always been required to dress well for the Ministry, even when he had not been working, for appearance's sake were important to his career and what was expected of him. And now look at him… This had been the only set of clothes he had had, forgetting the few robes packed in his trunk. He would have to purchase some today. He opened the cabinet before him, and found small complimentary bottles of shampoo. He opened the lid and took a whiff, and immediately placed them back in the cabinet. No thank you, Percy Weasl - Weatherby has standards.

He returned to the other room, and opened the trunk he had brought with him, rifling through a plethora of objects. Before he had broken his wand he had done a number of useful things, and putting the undetectable extension charm on his trunk had been one of them. He hissed in frustration when he could not find what he had been looking for, and unceremoniously started discarding items around him at random – books he had disguised with different covers so as to not alarm Muggles if they came across them, his favourite pair of boots, his long coat-stand he pulled out and stood in the corner of the room which would tell him which coat on its hooks would suit whatever he was wearing. He ignored the tittering reaction from it at what he was wearing now and moved back to the trunk. It hadn't been what he was looking for, but he took out a gold and scarlet scarf as if it had been a precious gift, and he sat on the bed, unwinding his Gryffindor scarf gently and touching the emblazoned insignia on the material, of the lion on his hind legs.

_Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!_

A few objects fell to his lap as he unwound the scarf. With such care he picked up the Prefect badge. He looked fondly of the P inscribed on Gryffindor's house colours, and then in turn held his Head boy Badge. With a bit more emotion than he would have liked to admit he placed them on his bedside table, and then wrapped his scarf around the headboard of the bed. He then returned to the other objects that had been wrapped safe and snug in the scarf, a blue and bronze ribbon which still held _her_ faint scent in the fabric and an old love letter that he hid back in his trunk.

After a little more searching and after a lot more things had been littered on his floor, he cried out in success. The bath salts and bubble bath. He had brought them for emergency purposes and from the state he was in, it was a dire emergency. He stood and went back to the bathroom holding the jars, and he ran a bath, frustrated at how slow Muggles bath water warmed, and as the water ran he spurted a little of the bubble bath into the water. After this was done, he emptied a little of the bath salts into the water too, as the bubbles began to resemble the smooth meringue of those lemon pies one could purchase from Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop in Hogsmeade. He looked at the jar of bath salts in satisfaction – it was supposed to be a more masculine scent than the general type, with ingredients ranging from cedarwood and sandalwood with just a touch of sweet orange. With anticipation of the bath he had drawn for himself, he stripped off his clothing and stepped into the warm water, then slid contentedly under the foam, lying back and resting his head back. A contented moan escaped him, and for those precious few minutes all depressing thoughts escaped him, as the warmth seemed to soothe every bit of strain from his muscles. There was nothing better than a bath.

He closed his eyes lazily.

And he was met with the sight of his best friend Morgan's corpse lying on the uneven grounds of war-torn Hogwarts.

His eyes snapped open and he had to restrain the cry that had nearly escaped him. His hands moved over his eyes, and he thought it better to set himself the task of washing himself rather than relax. He scrubbed his body till he was red raw, with the mortification that he had been mistaken for a homeless person still lingering over him. He washed his hair, disgusted at the amount of dirt and grime that had been there. When he had finished he was calmer again, and with this sense of security, he lay back, just for a few moments…

_He was in Madame Pomfrey's ward at Hogwarts after Penelope had been petrified by the Basilisk, but was now said to be conscious again, "I don't think you understand the magnitude of this!" he puffed out his chest, "I'm a Prefect, and I wish to see Penelope Clearwater!"_

_"And these are my quarters, and your badge and your name – don't look at me like that, I know you Percy Weasley and that you were going to use Bill and Charlie and their legendary status in your little tirade – mean nothing to me. My word is law here!" she glowered at him, her hands on her hips._

_To her consternation and shock – as much as Percy's – his face crumpled and he burst into tears._

_"...Perce?"_

_He heard Penny's soft voice from a bed on the other side of the room, and without thinking he bolted down there unable to hear Madame Pomfrey's bleating about how she needed rest. She soon gave up on this endeavor and with a roll of her eyes she retired to her office, leaving the lovesick teenager alone._

_Percy hesitantly moved past the curtains around the bed, his eyes resting on his newly awoken Penelope. He was suddenly filled with uncertainty and he fidgeted, as she smiled softly, her hand weakly reaching out for his. At once he was beside her, his hand grasping hers and his cheek against her cheek, "I was so worried – I was so worried…"_

_"Mmm, my perfect Percy worrying over something that's not prefect duties, what has the world come to?" her voice was hoarse, as if her throat was unfamiliar with being used, which of course it hadn't been over the months._

_He pulled his seat closer to her bedside and he rested his head on her pillow, his face cushioned on her dark golden curls that he had missed._

_"I dreamed of you," she murmured._

_"Did you?"_

_"No," she let out a soft snort, "But it would have been very romantic if I had, don't you agree?"_

_He said nothing, savouring the warm touch of her fingers entwined in his and she said with a tilt to her head, "You'd better have wagered money on how long it would take me to recover."_

_"Stop it," he nuzzled her face with his, "Anyway, you owe me ten Galleons still from that Quidditch match."_

_"Oh… Do I?" she feigned confusion, "I can't remember a thing from before the accident, you know."_

_He laughed softly, then sat up and cautiously peered out of their little cubicle._

_"Percy?" she weakly tugged at him, "Tomorrow will you bring me my writing desk and some parchment? I need to... I need to write down as much as I can remember. Academics have written about basilisks, but no survivors have written about the actual lived experience," she was still recovering, but there was already a restless timber to her words, already excited about scholarly endeavors. "Would you be my research assistant? Our prefect privileges let us go into the restricted section at the library, I’ll write out a list," her weak hold tightened on him, "Do you think I could be published before I graduate?"_

_There was no movement and no visitors, and he then quietly slid in the hospital bed beside her, leaning his head against her shoulder. "Of course," he curled into her, already planning with her, "And do you know, oddly enough, I think Hagrid might know some useful things about them as well. We should go to him too." Her eyes fluttered shut tiredly and they said nothing more, but held hands, her fingers tightening around his affectionately when she felt his silent tears of relief that she was safe…_

Percy turned his head and sighed, as he sat up in the bath. The water which had previously been so welcoming and warm; was now tepid. He pulled himself out and took out the plug, letting the water drain as he dried himself with the coarse towels the motel provided. Then reluctantly he pulled on the clothes from the previous day, looking at himself in the mirror. He combed his fingers through his wet hair till he was satisfied with the styling. Well, at least he looked… Well, no, he still looked pitiful. But never mind. He was clean at least.

He made up his mind then that after breakfast he would go purchase some clothes. Not tattered second-hand clothes, but clothes befitting to him. He had his pride still, after all.

Before he left the room, he sighed and took less cash than he would have liked, from the brown paper bag and tucked it into his pocket. He made to leave the room, but then stopped and stared at the trunk for a little while. Then he moved over to it, opened it, took out the ribbon of blue and bronze and pocketed that too. Then he left the room.

~

Percy stabbed his knife and fork into the breakfast steak on his plate and ravenously took a bite from it. He was sitting alone in the corner of a little cafe, with the Muggle newspaper - the Independent - spread in front of him beside his full plate of breakfast. His eyes flicked absentmindedly over the articles and the dull, unmoving pictures, to see if there were any hints of news about the world he had left. It seemed so unreal to him that there was nothing at all mentioned in the papers about the battle of Hogwarts or of Voldemort's defeat or any commemorative list of the dead or anything about the Boy Who Lived who had triumphed.

Didn't anybody realise the world had been rent apart by the seams? That while they survived, innocently drinking coffee and squabbling over incidences in their automobiles on the road, dead bodies had strewn over the lawns of Hogwarts so that they could continue living their oblivious lives without fear? The blood of the innocent had spilled for them… It had only been less than a month, but he felt like it had been several lifetimes. He looked down and scanned an article – a singer from Israel, Dana International, had won something called the Eurovision Song contest. He pushed the paper away, and sighed. He had thought leaving everything behind would make him feel better, but it just seemed to make it all worse. He lowered his head and went back to eating – he had made up his mind, this was the direction he was going to take.

He had bought a feast for breakfast to make up for the couple of days he hadn't eaten. Tomatoes and hash browns, toast with butter, a stack of three pancakes covered in maple syrup, the breakfast steak and the sausages, strips of bacon and eggs with hollandaise sauce. It all filled two plates, with a glass of orange juice to wash it all down. He concentrated at the job at hand – stabbing, cutting, chewing, swallowing, stabbing, cutting, chewing, swallowing… It had never been such a chore to eat before.

His mind unconsciously drifted to his Mother crying in the night for her dead son… Not quiet, dignified weeping, but heaving sobs… And he pulled his thoughts away from that.

_"You're a joke, Percy!"_

He froze at that sudden thought, at the same time as a little girl, barefoot and grubby, who had been winding around the tables handing out flowers to random people from her backpack came up to him. He absently gave her a few coins and she left the wilted weed by his plate, and carefully placed his cutlery down. He shakily thought of the horrible quarrel he had had with his Father, had it been two years ago? When he had said things he hadn't even meant – no, be honest Percy, he told himself. You did mean those things, and that's what makes it all the worse.

_The chairs had been thrown back on the floor as they stood staring at each other, as if they were about to duel. His mother watched behind the kitchen bench, her mouth open as she watched the quarrel unfurl, helplessly. What had started out as a dispute had reached a dangerous level of intensity. It had begun when his father vehemently disagreed with Percy accepting the position of Junior Assistant to Fudge, but had ricocheted out of control._

_"You're a joke, Percy!"_

_Percy had not meant his words to come out of him so shrill and child-like as he retorted thunderously to his Father, "I am not a joke! I've worked hard to get to where I am and it's finally nice that having dreams and ambitions are rewarded in some places instead of being ridiculed as it is in this damn household! Look at Fred and George! Utterly humiliating to be associated with them, but oh, it's alright because they're Fred and George! They can act the fool however much they want. No, I have worked hard – not that that means anything to you!"_

_"And what in blazers is that supposed to mean?" his Father had spluttered back._

_"Do you really want me to delve into that, Dad? I mean, do you? All my life you've lived in some sort of dream of yours, are you so certain you want me to burst your nice little fantasy?"_

_They both heard his mother whimpering, but neither took much notice._

_His father looked him up and down with disgust, "I think that you should say your piece son, obviously it's been on the tip of your tongue for quite some time!"_

_Percy hadn't known where it had all come from, but an avalanche of resentment spewed forth out of him, he had so much anger he was trembling from head to foot, "You have never set up a good example tinkering away in your little broom cupboard of an office at the Ministry! And you could have been promoted, there's no reason you couldn't have been Dad, but you never were, all because of your love of Muggles! Do you know as a boy, I looked up to you? Looked up to that?"_

_"Percy!" his Mother gasped horrified._

_"No, no Molly, obviously this has been a long time coming. Don't stop him now. Is there anything else you'd like to say Percy?" his Father replied stiffly._

_Evidently there was, as now Percy had started he couldn't stop, "I'm the only one in this family Ron and Ginny can properly look up to, besides Bill and Charlie! I had to always do without growing up all so you could quite happily play around all your life with your stupid obsession, instead of taking on a responsible career. No wonder all the respectable families make it their sport to laugh at the Weasleys! And then you wonder why the twins don't take a serious path in their lives, well what choice did they ever have with parenting like they had? And look at Mum! Slaving away every day of her life without the proper means to take care of all of us –"_

_"Enough!" his Mother shrieked, but still neither Weasley paid her any mind._

_His father laughed now, "Yet still you think you somehow got this job because of your own merit! Think Percy, think! How on earth can that be so hard for you, you used to be such a bright boy! You have barely left school and you think you have actually earned that sort of job? After everything with Crouch on top of that?? Do you really think that Percy? They gave it to you to spy on us! Spy on Dumbledore! You can't be that thick, that much of a joke –"_

_"I AM NOT A JOKE!"_

_Percy's roar gave a momentary reprieve in the fight. For a moment or two there was deathly silence and Percy was ashamed that he felt tears dripping down his face. His mother rushed over and took his arm, pleading for him to stop, pleading for him to understand. He was ashamed that being mocked by his father hurt him more than he thought it ever could._

_But his father's eyes were still on Percy with such contempt that Percy continued, "Excuse me while I actually try and make something of myself! Excuse me while I try to build a life for myself that you never bothered to give me –"_

_"You ungrateful boy!" his Father bellowed, "Lord knows everybody knew your mother favoured you –"_

_"ARTHUR, YOU'VE GONE TOO FAR!"_

_He ignored his wife, "–You never lacked for anything Percy, don't create a miserable childhood you never had! If the others did without, it was never Percy who did, never perfect Percy! We gave you things, we rewarded you for your hard work, we bought you all those extra books, bought you all those tickets to lectures in the holidays when you wanted to further yourself –"_

_"Isn't that funny though?" Percy interrupted heatedly, "You provided me with everything, did you? You couldn't even buy me a wand! Never even bought the basics, couldn't afford it, couldn't be bothered to afford it to equip your son!"_

_It was his mother that interrupted him then, her voice full of pain, "You know full well that isn't true! You have your Uncle Gideon's wand, he died like a hero against You-Know-Who before you were born! It is an honour – it is an honour to have it!"_

_Percy was still looking at his father, but he replied coolly, "Keep it. Keep the damn honour, I don't want it and I never have. I'm buying my own wand, I'm earning enough now. I deserve a wand that will choose me, that is an extension of myself!"_

_His mother was crying quietly, but his father seemed to continue with what he was saying before, a muscle twitching in his cheek, "We gave you a good education, a fine education and when you became Prefect and Head Boy you were the one to be given new robes or an owl or whatever else."_

_Percy replied to this with a tone of mockery, "Well thank heavens Mr. Arthur Weasley had some sort of pride."_

_There was silence again as the two men faced each other. His father had never struck any of his children, but Percy had never seen that particular glint in his father's eyes either, and he said quietly, "A lesser father would..." His voice trailed._

_To be spoken to like he was still a child rankled Percy's nerves and he replied without missing a heartbeat, "And a greater father wouldn't be content with a piss poor, endless, pointless job!"_

_The repercussions of this last retort seemed to terrify his mother and she flung herself in front of Percy then in a motion of protectiveness, as if she too were frightened of the look in her husband's eyes. Only Arthur Weasley did nothing, did not move a muscle, but said quietly, so very quietly, "Out."_

_He felt his mother cling to him tightly, pleading to them both, for Percy to apologise, for her husband to forgive, but neither men would budge._

_His father repeated again, "Out!"_

_After prying himself off his crying mother, Percy then went to the door that led to the stairs to his room where he would pack his belongings, bent down and wrenched out from the bottom of the doorway his brothers' ludicrous invention of extendable ears and said so very coldly, "Control your damn family for once," then he stormed out to pack all of his belongings, and to leave the Burrow for good. He had had enough. It was silent in his room as he jerkily waved all of his belongings into his trunks and he tried to ignore his mother's grief down below, where she begged, "Arthur, please – go after him, stop him! For Merlin's sake he's only a boy and you expect him to have the wisdom of the last two decades of the war!"_

_He then started to move downstairs again with his trunks in tow when he stopped and turned, staring at all the closed doors of his siblings bedrooms, knowing that they had all heard every single word of that war that had waged downstairs. He hesitated, then called out stiffly, "Ginny! Ron! If you should ever need me, send an owl to me at the Ministry… That goes for you too of course, Fred and George, if you can ever eliminate your pride. You're all always welcome to come to me for help, I'm your brother."_

_He turned to leave but was too slow in defending himself as he heard three bedroom doors swing open and he ducked as dozens of dung bombs were pelted at him hard from above. He fell down the remaining stairs with his trunks toppling hard over him due to dropping his wand, but with as much dignity as he could muster, he hauled himself up and walked out, straight-backed, his trunks following, once again floating in the air._

Percy sat alone, his appetite entirely gone, though he continued to eat automatically. He couldn't afford to waste money now. When the little girl reappeared with her wilted little flowers, his gut clenched. On a whim he bought all the damned flowers and set to work, making her a little flower wreath. He needed busy work to steady his hands.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Chapter Eight._ **

Charlie was walking down a street, Ginny in tow, looking for a particular number to a house. But if he were to be honest, his thoughts were roving from the task at hand. It still had not really sunk in that his brother was dead… Merlin, it didn't seem right…He should have been feeling immense grief – well, in a way he was, but in such a way that he was numb to it. He saw his family's pain – especially his mother and father – and felt tremors of his own anguish, but it was as if it were confined within him. It seemed to be roiling as if it were underneath a thick layer of Winter ice. He knew it would crack sooner or later and he would be immersed in it, where it would be all consuming – the death of his kid brother! – but he did not fancy being around everybody when it finally hit. He could already feel his feet itching, an inner restlessness for him to be gone. He felt incredible guilt – he should stay of course and help his family through this. But at the same time he wanted to be back in Romania, back to risking his neck every day with dragons, where he didn't need to think. How could they all stand it? Being overwhelmed with such pain yet be surrounded by the same pain as the others around them whom they loved? His mother could not function, he caught his dad weeping regularly, Bill's mourning came out through anger – he had always been like that, George… Poor George was in some form of denial still, Ron would have fits of sullenness where for some reason only that Granger girl could reach him… And Ginny.

He felt such a strange bout of fondness for his little sister at that moment. She was such a tough little thing, and yet a stranger to him. He had been nine when she had come into the world with her shock of bright curls and had still been so small at two years of age when he had ventured off to Hogwarts. He had watched his brothers grow of course, had played with them, fought with them, stuck by them, gone to school with them and had dobbed on them through letters to their mum while at school, and at the same time covered for them when it was really important, but he had only caught glimpses of Ginny growing up, small windows of the little girl's ageing when he came home in the school holidays. And then he had traveled after school of course, and had returned home, expecting the same little imp who would use her brothers' Qudditch robes for dress-ups, but instead was confronted with a young and poised woman. Her bright hair from childhood had darkened to a beautiful russet and the only one recognisable feature of the young woman who stood by him was one little curl, resting on the side of her forehead which would never go away, no matter how she had cut at it.

His heart had literally lurched to his teeth when he had entered the battle of Hogwarts and had seen her in the fray. His instinct was to protect her, to throw her over his shoulder while she kicked and screamed in protest, and hide her somewhere in safety – but it had seemed his instinct had been wrong. He had been worried about the wrong sibling.

She had been seeing that Harry Potter but their time together had been fleeting, even after the battle and their triumph. Remus Lupin had been seriously injured in the battle, and Harry had gone to stay with him and Tonks, to help Tonks take care of him. Not to mention the fact there were so many funerals to attend, so many burials that were being organised, the young sweethearts had barely had any time at all for such frivolous things as dates. Ginny had been a life-saver though. She and Fleur had become the backbone of the family while their mum tried to deal with her grief. They prepared meals, did housework, dealt with the onslaught of guests who paid respects to the family… She was only seventeen in a few months time and already had had to deal with so much.

Charlie wondered how Ginny was coping with her own grief. Was she coping? Or was she, like him, ignoring it while trying to keep busy?

"So, you definitely think it's this street?" he asked her, to change his thoughts.

"Well if somebody had just let us apparate here…" Ginny said feigning innocence.

"You're underage Gin," he said absentmindedly, "Side-Along Apparition still has its risks when you're not properly trained and Mum would blow her gasket," – well, in any normal circumstance where she wasn't in mourning, she would.

"Oh come on," Ginny said impatiently, "Kingsley's Minister now, you really think he'd let me be expelled for something like this?"

"I think with the roundup of all the Death Eaters and trying to sort out the whole Ministry of Magic, he wouldn't be too pleased to have to come out and deal with a bit of improper underage magic. Alright, it's definitely this street, and I'd say this house," Charlie looked up as well as Ginny, staring at the dilapidated house before them. Weeds were overgrown and spiraling out of control and it looked like it needed a bit (a lot) of degnoming. Curtains had been thrust over the window panes even though it was during the day.

"You reckon this is where Penelope lives?" Ginny asked uncertainly.

"That's what Percy's address book says… Well I mean, this was the place she stayed before she shacked up with him when he left home, so I guess she would have come back here, right?" Charlie answered.

Bill had given them all the addresses of contacts and friends he had had at school, and at the ministry after Hogwarts. Bill had searched what was left in Percy's room, and had found the address book. He had divided all of the names and had taken a list for himself and Fleur, had given a list to Ron and Hermione and had given Charlie and Ginny one too. There was no way Percy would have buggered off somewhere without telling somebody. Percy had never liked to be alone…

~

_Charlie was storming up the stairs to the astronomy tower for a class (Blah. Morning astronomy classes meant only a theory lesson, since they couldn't obviously look at anything during the day. Boring.) when he had crashed unexpectedly into his little brother who was in first year, sitting on the stairs and sobbing heavily._

_"Perce?" he bent down, "What's the matter?"_

_"I'm looking for a class and the other Gryffindors told me it was up here and it's not and now I'm lost and nobody likes me and I want to go home!" was what Charlie made out of the reckless crying._

_Charlie pulled him up by his robes, and said gently, "Stop being a little softie. What's your class?"_

_"It's Transfigurations," a little girl popped out from the doorway down below, "Why in Heavens you'd believe it was up here is beyond me. Come on, we'll be late for class, Weasel."_

_Charlie looked hard at the little girl with Slytherin green on the lining of her robes, but Percy had jumped up, his tears forgotten as he had seen a familiar and friendly face. All loneliness had been forgotten._

_"Morgan!" he had said happily, and she held out her hand for him._

_"It's alright," she said solemnly to Charlie, which had made him want to laugh considering she was so much younger than he, "I'll take him to class, but we'll have to be quick or I'll be late for Herbology. I heard them all laughing about it as I was walking past. Don't worry Percy, we'll jinx them later," and with that his brother and the little Slytherin girl with riveting blue black curls bouncing down her back, dashed out of the corridor._

He had often wondered what had happened to that Slytherin girl, but had been pleased she was not in the list that Bill had given him and Ginny to find. Such command in a little girl would be disturbing in an adult.

Charlie thought of the infamous Penelope Clearwater. She and his brother had been on-again, off-again throughout school and afterwards too. With a mane of dark blonde curls she had been very pretty, and from what Charlie could remember, their relationship had been very volatile. They had been too different, that's what had been the issue. She had been too wild and he had been too well-behaved. He remembered her too, in first year, bolting past him with no fear that she had just barged past a bunch of fifth years, her gold hair flying behind her as Percy tried to walk as fast as he could and keep up at her pace at the same time, calling out, "Penny – we're not supposed to run in the corridors! Penny! We'll get in trouble!"

He remembered Percy and Penelope's first serious breakup…

_Charlie had been home from Romania incidentally enough, on a break, and his mother had come into his room, worry creased over her brow as she held out a letter the twins had written, gleefully talking about their brother's heartache, "Please talk to him, Charlie, dear… He needs his big brother."_

_"Talk to him?" Charlie laughed, "Why not ask Bill?"_

_Her blank expression gave him the answer to that._

_Sighing he went to the family fireplace, and in a few moments his head was in the fire._

_He soon saw the bedroom of Percy at Hogwarts. Now that he was Head Boy he had been given his own, not to mention his own fireplace where he could converse with his family when he chose. Charlie saw Percy at once, his head lowered over something he was writing, in utter concentration._

_"BOO!" Charlie cried out and laughed when his brother jerked in surprise, knocking over a goblet, its liquid spilling over his parchment._

_"That's not funny!" Percy exploded, and Charlie had to laugh at the shrillness in the tone, "What do you want, anyway? I'm busy."_

_"Busy?" Charlie said teasingly, "You know, Bill and I couldn't even have a bet if you would be in your room or not. We knew you'd be there, you're that boring."_

_With a flick of his wand Percy had cleaned the liquid mess and replied bluntly, "Apparently so, according to some."_

_"Oh come now," Charlie whined, "It's no fun when you agree."_

_"Yup."_

_"You're a spoilsport, Perce."_

_"That I am."_

_"What are you doing anyway?" Charlie asked, "Ohhh, don't tell me…Head boy things!"_

_"As a matter of fact," Percy answered calmly, obviously refusing to take the bait, "I'm writing a letter."_

_"To a girl?"_

_Percy said nothing, but continued to write._

_"Oh no! You aren't begging her back are you?"_

_Percy looked up sharply, "You know?"_

_"Mate, the whole family knows."_

_Percy flushed in indignation, muttering, "The humiliation of it all!"_

_"Hey," Charlie retorted firmly, "We all get our hearts stomped on from time to time, Perce. It's called love... Or something."_

_"I mean Mum making you talk to me about this, as I imagine she would have," Percy rolled his eyes when Charlie did not argue this, "I'm fine. If she'd rather be with a… With a stupid, mediocre future _Transfigurations professor_ than – than the future Minister of Magic – than – than good luck to her I say!"_

_"You're a pompous ass, that's your problem bro," they heard Bill say from behind Charlie, but with only amusement in his words and no malice._

_Charlie continued as if there had been no interruption, saying sympathetically, "Caught her with another guy at the Twilight Ball, huh?"_

_Percy puffed up, his eye twitching, "I mean, the indignity of it! He was a Hufflepuff!"_

_"Yeah, well…" Charlie sighed, "If she can't see the good man you are, then… May a Boggart get her!"_

_There was silence, and Percy looked down at his hands thoughtfully, "You… You really think… I'm a man?"_

_Charlie said bluntly, "Don't let it go to your head. You've still got a way to go before you're anything like Bill and me... Do something crazy with your hair or take on a dangerous creature, then we'll see about giving you the rite of passage into being a real man."_

_Percy sniffed, "There is no rite of passage."_

_"Ohhhhh," Charlie whistled, "Dad hasn't talked to you about it yet? Huh, must think you're not quite ready..."_

_"You're full of centaur shit," Percy replied._

_"Percy swore!" Charlie cried out to Bill, with Bill's laughter being obvious._

_"Yes, and now he's doing this," Percy stood and after muttering "Aguamenti," with his wand, he started to fill a bucket with water to douse over Charlie and the flames._

_"Wait, wait," Charlie said hurriedly, "What's the letter about anyway?"_

_He thought he would have to chew it out of his brother, but oddly Percy muttered without any hounding, "I'm demanding she compensate me for the corsage I wasted on her the night she found another more appealing."_

_Charlie pulled a face, with Bill saying in the background, "Bad idea Perce!"_

_"Ow... I'm afraid I'm going to have to agree with Bill…No, trust me. You need to keep your dignity intact. That letter will just amuse her. You don't want that being passed around."_

_"… Already owes me ten Galleons on a Quidditch match."_

_"I'd suggest you count your losses, mate," Charlie said pityingly, then he turned his face to the side, listening to something, then returned to Percy's direction, "Who else have you got in line?"_

_"What?"_

_"Bill wants to know," he answered with a shrug._

_"Tell Bill to mind his own business!"_

_"Oh, there's nobody," thoroughly enjoying Percy's discomfort, he turned his head again, "No, he – Oh, he - he's saying surely with your er - qualifications as debate captain, they should be clamoring -"_

_"Can't you just leave me alone? How in Hades are we related?" Percy shot back, and Charlie began to laugh until he saw his little brother trembling, and covering his face with his hand._

_"Perce…" he began tenderly._

_"No!" Percy grabbed the full bucket of water, "I'm busy, bug off!" and he hauled the bucket of water on to the flames, Charlie pulling back into the Burrow, coughing with ash and water. Bill was still laughing._

~

Charlie stood outside the door still with Ginny, as both continued to look indecisively at the house. Then he shrugged. She had been the one girl who had continued to be in Percy's life, even when they had quarreled. If anybody would know where Percy was, it would be Penelope Clearwater. Charlie raised his fist and knocked on the door.

Nobody answered.

Charlie waited a few more minutes and then rapped on the door again. Still there was no answer. He looked at Ginny who shrugged, but then after the sounds of half a dozen locks being unfastened, the door opened on its own accord, with nobody behind it. Charlie instinctively placed a protective hand on his little sister's arm, but she shook it off with a roll of her eyes and took a step forward. The moment her foot stepped in the doorway however, she was launched back into the air, flinging back, and she would have crumpled to the ground roughly had Charlie not caught her before she hit the cement. A sound like a huge rumbling of ice and snow barging down a mountainside bellowed at them, with the words _"Take away the whole and some still remains. What is left?"_

Charlie shifted on his feet, folding his arms and Ginny hissed impatiently, "Bloody Ravenclaws, all the same! – Penelope, are you in there? We don't have time for this! It's Ginny and Charlie Weasley!"

But there was no reply.

"So, I suppose this is… A password type security… Thing?" Charlie asked her, "You can't enter until you've guessed the riddle correctly?"

Ginny patted him on the arm with a half smile, "Top marks. Now go sit down before you exhaust yourself, Son of Gryffindor. All brawn but no brains."

Charlie nudged her good-naturedly, "Says the fellow Gryffindor."

"Yep," Ginny then folded her arms, "So, take away what and some still remains? Go on, be chivalrous, stick your foot in there so we can hear it again."

"No thanks, Posy," Charlie said, using the term of endearment the family had given her as an infant, and looked around for a pebble.

He found one on the street and tossed it through the doorway. As was expected, it bounced back towards them and the rumbling erupted again, "Take away the whole and some still remains. What is left?"

Ginny tapped her chin thoughtfully, while Charlie said, "Bit disappointed in you to be honest, Gin. What was it you were saying about brawn and brains?"

"What? Why?" Ginny asked confused.

"Well, it's easy. Whole and some. Take away the whole… Some remains…" he said coaxingly.

"Oh!" Ginny cried out, "Wholesome. The word wholesome."

"Mmmhmm," Charlie said confidently, and both stared at the doorway. But nothing happened. There was no change, no signal to show that they had correctly solved the riddle. Ginny bent down and picked up the pebble, and this time when she tossed it, it clattered over the foyer and stayed there.

Ginny and Charlie moved forward and like the pebble, were allowed to move across the threshold themselves. There stood a woman staring piercingly at them, in front of a doorway leading to the sitting-room. Charlie was just about to open his mouth to ask where Penelope Clearwater was when he heard Ginny gasp and step forward, "Penelope!"

It took a few moments for Charlie to realise himself, and when he did he had to take a step back. The woman was wearing tattered robes, but that was not what was alarming. It was Penelope – but… But she couldn't be … He racked his brains trying to remember any mention of an older sibling, but he could not think of one. She was supposed to be twenty two this year but she had aged shockingly… She had been such a pretty girl and Bill had always teased Percy that he must have slipped a love potion in her goblet (well, he did until Percy started ranting about the ethics of love potions) as nobody knew how he had managed to pursue and win such a catch. Her once golden blonde hair which used to shine now hung unwashed looking, limp and matted; and the curls drooped in reckless, uneven and complicated tangles down her shoulders, which he knew would be painful for her to brush out properly. Her skin was sallow and pale, and looked as thin as antiquated parchment. Veins of blue were transparent in her shaky hands and lines decorated her eyes. Every so often there would be a twitch in her mouth. She seemed to waver on her feet and he realised that she was tired from the effort of standing. He thought of the collection of framed photographs his mother kept on a wall in a hallway back at the Burrow. He remembered a particular photograph of Percy, taken when he was school-age. Penelope's arms had been thrown about Percy's neck carelessly, her mouth planting kiss after kiss on his cheek while Percy sat there straightening his glasses, a slight blush of shy pleasure at her touch blooming in his cheeks, as well as half-hearted resignation. His girlfriend _would_ ruin the photograph with her over-the-top antics, but what could one do? That girl in the picture looked as if she had lived a completely different life to this downtrodden woman.

"If you've come to me on behalf of Percy, then to hell with you," there was a discordance in her hoarse voice as if she wasn't well practiced in the art of speaking.

Ginny shifted uncomfortably, and then spoke kindly, "We've come to ask you if you've seen Percy lately, and to please tell us where he is if you have. He's been missing and we're all worried about him. He's packed everything and gone, even breaking his wand."

"And thought you'd come to me, right?" the girl replied bitterly.

"Well," Ginny said hesitantly, "We know that you were the one friend who Percy cared about the most. If he would have told anybody where he was, it would have been you."

Penelope's laugh was flat and humourless, "Cared for me the most? Ginny, you're thinking of the wrong guy. Percy didn't care for anyone but himself. Anyway, you're wasting your time. We haven't seen each other since Hogwarts. I wasn't _cavalier_ enough for him when he entered the Ministry," she folded her arms in an act of stubbornness.

"Well, now, that's interesting," Charlie placed his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet, "Because my sources say you shacked up with him for awhile when he had a falling out at home."

Penelope's hands fell to her sides, her lips pursing, and she finally nodded reluctantly, "Fine. But then we broke up. What is it to you?"

"But you broke up plenty of times, remember? All throughout school… Like that time you were caught snogging that Hufflepuff lad when you were supposed to be Percy's partner at that dance," Charlie said with a shrug, "Breaking up never seemed to be a big deal for the both of you."

Penelope swallowed and smiled slightly, "Ah," she seemed unfocused for a short moment, "Merlin that was years ago… Poor, poor Percy, betrayed by his girlfriend. Did he ever tell you that it was all because I was trying to get his attention yet again, since all he seemed to want to do with his spare time was wank over his Head Boy badge?" a flicker of the old good-natured Penelope seemed to penetrate through the acrimony and sullenness for a moment, and she nodded apologetically towards Ginny as she became focused again on the two of them, "I'm sorry, I'm being vulgar… But my point is… Well, I don't really have one. But I was never really interested in Isaiah Abbott. It was always Percy I wanted, and Percy knew that too. I just thought showing interest elsewhere would get him to notice me… And it did… Later. After making up. And making up some more. Anyway, I bet he never told you about that Slytherin girl who would always throw herself at him at every chance. It's the Snake he cared about the most. You know we dueled once, Morgan and I? I've never been sure whether he knew about it. Well anyway, when I say duel I mean we started with wands but ended up in a scuffle on the floor. I won though. The secret life of Percy Weasley, bet you all didn't realise how exciting his school days actually were. Oh no, he'd make sure that went to the grave with him, everything had to be respectable, with no wrinkle or crease in his plans. Yes - it was unforgivable of me to kiss another, but he did things too…" she paused for a moment, and then continued, "We were toxic together. Knew how to hurt the other in the worst way. And we did…" she stopped and blinked, as if she had said too much. Perhaps it was the fact she sounded like she hadn't spoken properly to another in a long time that had unconsciously unhinged her tongue.

Charlie didn't quite know what to say to all of this, but he said softly, "Penelope… Do you know where Percy is? Please tell us."

She shrugged, "I'm telling you. If anybody, it would be the snake."

Ginny continued awkwardly, "Morgan was killed... At the battle."

Charlie stilled at the news.

Penny blinked. "Oh." She did not seem to know how to respond to that, her face seemed to struggle somewhat, before she then offered, "Oh. Darius Masters might," her eyes momentarily flickered to Charlie, Ginny noticed, though she didn't understand why. Charlie shifted uneasily on his feet. "If anything, you should try him. Just look for all the theatres, though he always had an eye for breaking into the muggle movies scene," she started to laugh - well, her shoulders shook a little, "Such an attention whore and from the oldest family. A Masters on the Muggle silver screen, his father would..." her mirth was short-lived as she then added, "Anyway, how would I have heard from Percy? I was just released from Azkaban, not even a week ago."

Ginny's hand flew to her mouth after she had sworn, and at once the vast difference in personality from the old Penelope that they had known, and her now shocking appearance made sense.

"But…" Ginny stumbled over her words, "B-but Az-A-Azkaban? _Why?"_

Penelope smiled wryly, "You forget Ginny. I'm a Mudblood remember. Born from non-magical people, oh yes, apparently I wickedly stole my powers. And they say as a little girl I had been vicious and evil –"

"Stop!" Ginny cried out, "Penelope, oh heavens!" she ran over to her and flung her arms around the girl in an awkward embrace, "What did they do to you?"

Charlie saw that Penelope seemed relieved when the embrace ended. He suddenly felt even more uncomfortable, and wished he had never come. He wished he had never had to witness the transformation of Penelope Clearwater. He wished Bill and Fleur had been the one to see her, or Ron and Hermione. Then he felt a stab of guilt… She was like a wounded animal.

"Well… Since you're here… Do you want some tea?"

Ginny agreed at once and Charlie followed them into a – well, what was supposed to be a sitting-room he gathered. Empty cans of food were littered around the place, and stains ruined the carpet. There was barely any furniture in the room except for a rickety wicker chair and the odd cushions scattered around the place with a sleeping bag he supposed Penelope used instead of a bed. Dust lied thick across everything, and cobwebs adorned every corner. Multitudes and multitudes of candles and lamps were placed everywhere, giving so much light that there wasn't any room for shadows, which was an odd contrast to the fact the curtains were pulled shut tight even though it was daylight. But with a pang of pity he understood. She feared the outside world, but she also feared the dark. He remembered something Lupin had said when they had discussed Azkaban, _"They don't need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they're trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought. Most go mad within weeks."_ Dementors… She would have suffered Dementors… Oh, poor, broken, Penelope. He had an odd feeling of wanting to sweep the girl in his arms, like Ginny had embraced her, but brushed that thought aside at once. One did not embrace a hurting dragon.

He watched her bustle around in a back room, boiling a tea kettle. He heard a clatter and he rushed over to her to help. She was bending over as if in mid-motion, her hand reaching out to pick up the kettle, but her eyes were vacant. He knew from experience with spooked animals you did not reach out to touch them, instead you made your voice soft and supple, "Penny…" he said soothingly, and at once she was brought back to the present. Her hand wavered to her forehead apologetically, "Sorry… I was just lost for a moment. Tea… I was getting tea ready…" she declined any assistance from him, and he moved back to the sitting-room, noting she didn't use any magic for this mundane task.

His gaze swept over several locked trunks by the sitting-room door and he asked thoughtfully, "Are you... Packing... Or unpacking?"

He heard her reply from behind him, "Packing."

"Oh… Where are you going, may I ask? It looks like we caught you in time."

She did not answer till she had made Ginny and himself a mug of tea, and they sat down in the center of the room, on some cushions. She did not have a mug herself, but instead pulled a silver flask from her robes and took a mouthful of whatever liquid was inside. She winced as if it had burned her throat, then she answered his question as if there had not been a long pause in the conversation, "Back to Muggle London."

"Muggle London?" Ginny echoed.

"Mmhmm," Penelope took another swig from the flask, "I've had all I can take of this world. I've been through enough."

"But – how are you going to deal without magic?" Charlie asked curiously.

_"Wizards _– honestly!" Penelope muttered under her breath, then shrugged, "My first eleven years were without using magic, and then the lovely six months I spent in Hotel Azkaban… I have family that love me back there. That miss me. That think I've gone traveling," her face twitched, "Oh yes, I made sure to notify them of my innocent gallivanting around the globe before I was nabbed… In Tibet, I said, you see. Postal services are really bad… Might not hear from me for awhile, but it's alright, I'm just doing further study. Then… Then after awhile if I was never heard from again, I had hoped they would think that I had _died._ Rather that then them all knowing what really happened to me and not being able to do a damned thing about it."__

____

____

There was a silence, till Charlie said quietly, "I'm so sorry… Of course."

Penelope looked at him defiantly as if he had dared argue with her, "I'm through with magic. I'm through with wizards. I'm through with Centaurs and Mandrakes and Dragons and Unicorns and... And all the awful... Terrible... Creatures that come with this damned world. I don't want it anymore. I thought it was amazing... It's not. It's scary and never ending darkness with no light at the end. I hate this world. I hate everything that it brings," then she started really shaking, "I was accepted into Queen's College! I'd passed the interviews and academic requirements and everything to get into the school. Queen's College! Do you know how hard it is to get in? Only a handful of the hundreds of applications even get considered!" she looked at Charlie imploringly as if begging him to see how spectacular that achievement had been, "I know you – all you magic people don't – never heard of it – but it's one of the finest schools in the whole of the United Kingdom. I was going to go – and then that damned letter from Hogwarts arrived, and somebody came out and explained… And I was seduced by stupid, silly tricks. By wisps of pretty coloured smoke turning into a ship and my favourite toy turning into a real dog and a waterfall appearing in the kitchen… And well, I had to go of course, to control it, to manage my ability. I was so excited, more than anything… But I was supposed to go to Queen's College first of all!" she sniffled then, "I haven't seen my brother in so long… I want to go home and watch him again in a soccer match, like I used to. Real sport. No magic. I want to go back to reality!"

Charlie did not know what to say. But he nodded sympathetically, and started to mutter apologies. He gestured for Ginny that they were going to leave, and he began to stand till Penelope asked thoughtfully, "How is your Mother?"

"Mum?"

"She's lovely… Would always send Easter eggs when I was at school… My own Mum never had time to bake or cook," Penelope replied.

Charlie looked to Ginny who sighed and answered for him, "She's…I guess you haven't heard. Fred was killed you see," she paled at saying this, as if it were strange to say aloud, "He was killed. In the battle. At Hogwarts."

Penelope had turned ashen at this news, and she lowered her face, covering it with her hands, "I hate this place."

"Come have dinner with us."

The words had been spoken before Charlie had really thought about it, and Penelope looked up with a snigger, "Oh, that wouldn't be half awkward."

Ginny pressed forward encouragingly, "Percy isn't there. We could use the pleasant company. And Dad – you know our dad, he gets excited over anything to do with Muggles. You could talk about soccer or something. He needs something to make him smile, however slight it is."

There was silence and Penelope took from her robes a cigarette and a lighter, and lit up. After puffing, tendrils of emerald green twisted and coiled into the air. Then she spoke very coldly, "Don't take this the wrong way. I have nothing against your family, but I hate your brother. Whatever reasons he has for being away from you all, which I have no doubt are piss poor, I know it's killing him. He was too proud to admit it or apologise to your parents those years ago, but while I was with him, I knew it killed him to be estranged from you all. Of course he thought he was right, Perfect Percy was always right, but he missed you. It must be something serious if he's run after such a tragedy, when families should bind together in those sorts of circumstances. And whatever hurts him now, makes me happy. He deserves it, he deserves whatever silly mess he's put himself in, or whatever torment he's feeling. I became a _liability_ for him and he abandoned me and I hate him!" she puffed some more on the cigarette and this time electric blue smoke curled out before her, "So no, I don't think it a good idea to have dinner with you all. And please don't take offense."

"Come on," Charlie continued to urge, "You're leaving soon anyway, right? Might as well have one good memory of this world before you return to the world of…Of… Traffic lights and fellytones."

"Telephones," Penelope bluntly corrected him.

Charlie smiled a little, "I know. Dad just calls them that."

Penelope seemed to mull this offer over before saying with a shake of her head, "No. I don't want to. Your family is going through grief. It would be imposing and not to mention I've had a dozen lifetimes worth of misery hammered into me for six months. I don't need this."

"Well, have dinner with just us then," Charlie persisted.

"Ohh," Ginny piped up, "We can go to Hogsmeade."

Penny went to decline again, but then gave Charlie a look, and a tiny hint of mischief flitted across her face as she considered, then said, "... I tell you what. Darius was a good friend of mine, and he was a bit of a laugh. You go to him in your Percy search and get him to come along, and... I might as well use up what little I have left in these damn wizard coins," Penelope finally shrugged, then added, "Alright. Dinner tomorrow night, then? It'll be nice to uh.. Have something enjoyable to remember before I go I guess." She didn't look at Charlie as she said this, but instead flicked the ash of her cigarette, tiny gems of emerald green, into a clay pot.

Charlie's insides froze.

And so it seemed to be settled as Ginny jumped to her feet happily. Charlie stood as well, to return to the task of finding out news about Percy from old friends of his, but for some reason he couldn't meet his sister's eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Chapter Nine._ **

Percy Weasley had been wandering the streets aimlessly for the past few hours, trying to get his mind off things. He had bought himself a simple black t-shirt and a jacket and had quite happily dispensed with the grey shirt and black jumper he had been wearing, discarding them in a bin. To be honest though, he still wasn't certain about the clothing. It had a very distinctive Bill Weasley feel about it, and he stopped to stare at himself in the reflection of a shop window and grimaced at himself. His brother was cool. He, obviously, was not.

 _Next thing you know you'll be wearing a fang from an ear piercing,_ Percy thought to himself. He then stepped back and began searching for the appropriate sort of shop.

It did not take him long – he had walked through a business type shopping district where he could tell the clientele were a little more… Refined… Rather than busy shoppers dragging their reluctant children and squalling babies in trolleys, business men and women were walking around with their little mobile phones to their ears and leather briefcases in their hands. He circled around, seeing a coffee shop with a young man fervently looking over papers and a woman in a respectable looking skirt suit glowering at her watch and tapping her foot impatiently, and for the first time all day Percy smiled as a gush of relief swept over him. This was the type of world Percy understood. The world of order, the world of meetings, the world of deadlines and paperwork. This was something he could relate to; this was the same feel as at the Ministry and the streets around it. Blocks of buildings were scattered around the place and Percy's eyes caught a large shop selling clothes that he at once knew would suit him. It felt like Christmas.

He moved over to it and peered in the glass window at the sharply tailored suits and jackets with neat collared shirts and narrow ties dressed on the mannequins. These were the same sort of caliber of the robes that he had had to wear to work at the Ministry. Before he knew what he was doing, he had pushed open the door of the shop and stepped in. Immediately the hint of classical music seemed to whisper around him welcomingly, and he looked around at the racks of clothes not really certain where to start. He had always been used to Madame Malkin or somebody helpful bustling up straightaway, and had never had to think much on clothing. He spied an elegant young woman he supposed worked there, but she was with another customer and he was content enough to look on his own a little to get a feel of the place.

What first caught his eye was a simple slate grey waistcoat. He took it and turned to a mirror, holding it up to himself. His damned red hair – had always been an issue with choosing colours, but grey was a neutral, right? He was never good with colours. He had a sudden longing for Ginny and his Mother…

_"I think I'm quite capable of choosing my own robes!" he had said impatiently, while standing in Twilfitt and Tatting's a few years ago._

_Ginny shook her head with a sigh, while his Mother had rifled through the clothes racks in the shop, then pulled out a set of mauve robes, "Oh, I know it wouldn't go dear, but it's such a lovely colour…" she had sighed dolefully, "You young ones these days are wasting colours, you know. When your father was younger, he was a lot more daring with his choices."_

_Percy caught Ginny's eye in the reflection of the mirror, and she winked, making Percy cover his mouth with his hand to disguise his laugh with a cough. Ginny had moved forward to the clothes rack herself, to a safer colour - Merlin he'd been grateful, "Mum, what about this one here…?"_

He took a pair of trousers that complimented the grey of the waistcoat and paused at the business shirts. There was an array of colours but he had better not risk something that would look silly on him, so he took a crisp white shirt and went to a change room. He stripped out of the more trendy gear and felt immediately like himself again as he slipped into the more conservative clothes. He moved out of the change room and walked to the full-length mirror to examine himself. He moved to a different angle, a huge grin on his face. Well, Muggles certainly knew how to dress sharp. Not that he had anything against dress robes, they were a part of business wear at home of course and he liked wearing them, the quality of them told everybody that he had a fine job and was important, but it was nice wearing something that actually shaped his body. He turned slightly. My... He hadn't realised before that his body wasn't something to be ashamed about, it was actually quite trim, and considering he had an office pen pushing job this was quite the achievement. Certainly it wasn't strapping like Charlie who had to deal with dragons, but he couldn't complain about the tone of his own, he was rather well-built.

After a while he looked at the price tags and let out a soft little sound. He could never afford these, not now his savings were gone. He felt the soft fabric longingly. It actually felt so much like home, even in its difference, that for a moment he had to force himself to regain his bearings. He then moved back to the change rooms, put back on his own clothes, folded them and returned them gently to their places. He departed and sighing, he moved on to find shops which his wallet could afford.

He entered what looked like the sort of store general people entered and made his way through. People rushed by, and he nervously tried to find a quiet corner away from the hubbub. Shops at home got busy too, but… But the stores were smaller, and in a way it felt cosier? The floor here seemed to lead you around the place and in the midst of talking and children squalling he could hear beeps and overhead announcements were being made about sales, and… Merlin, he’d never been alone. Growing up he had always been in a small army moving about places as Mum had shouted orders and they were paired off… Then later at Hogsmeade with his few friends… And then afterwards, with Penny flitting about. Was it possible to feel caged in such an open space? He had to find a nook.

He found himself in the shoe section. A shoe section? He could have sworn he had passed music and cereal and -- heels and boots and even bedroom slippers were scattered about, but it was quiet here and the shelves seemed to block out the sounds of people nattering. He sat down on a chair, his knees tucked against his chest and made himself breathe.

_His father’s soft voice counting, soothing his anxious small son, “one, two, three… one, two, three… There’s my boy. Not harried, but like a waltz. You’re not throwing her around the dancefloor, you’re guiding her to a gentle beat.”_

_A small Percy, breathing to the rhythm his father was setting. Breathing the rhythm of a waltz._

He had to leave.

Once he was calm he got up, his eyes upon his feet and nowhere else - what sort of a store sells photo frames in the same place as sandwiches? What was this madness? - as he strode through the open store, till he stepped out and began walking down a street. One, two, three, one, two, three. There you go, Percy, there’s my boy.

When he was calm again, his eyes caught a glimpse of a shop window. It looked like the second hand type, and he moved over to it, looking at a particular woolen jumper of green. He didn’t even think as he strode in and made the strange purchase, but his heart eased a little as he then left and made his way to the bus stop he had been on the other day. He had deduced that muggle public transport takes on a circular route, and the thought of sitting on the bus and watching scenery pass sounded riveting right now.

~

It was a slight memory – in fact not even a memory but perhaps half dream, half recollection? Michelle remembered reading in one of her friend's university psychology books once that many childhood memories are not even memories at all but bits and pieces that the brain puts together from what people have been told and photographs they have seen about a particular recollection, therefore tricking people into believing they remember something when in fact they do not. And she supposed that made sense in this incident. But it seemed so sharp and distinct…

She was sitting at her father's feet as he had some sort of guitar resting on his knees. Now that she was older she understood that it was an electric lap steel guitar. He was holding a small metal steel in his hand and as he plucked the strings he grinned broadly, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth as musical notes of all colours seemed to spew forth from the strings. She wobbled to her feet, trying to grasp them, like a kitten would with colourful string, and she remembered he had said, "This Muggle rock isn't half bad, is it babe?"

This memory made no sense of course, but she held on to it because it was one of the few that she had concerning her dad. She had been five the last time she had seen him, and then all of her childhood memories had seemed to involve passing scenery while in buses with her mother, or hanging about in petrol stations.

_"We'll have to change our names again," her mother had said one usual wait in a greyhound station where they would sleep overnight. She had begun to whine, but her mother interrupted, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. But we can't... Think of a name, it can be anything you like."_

_She chewed her lower lip nervously. It was becoming harder to think of new names. She always picked names she hoped he would think of, her life away from him was measured by songs, songs that he had liked. She had been Angie like the Rolling Stones song, she had been Vera like the Pink Floyd song, she had thought of Susie like the Everly Brothers Wake Up Little Susie… And now she had been Emily by that Simon and Garfunkel song._

_She was running out of names! How would he find her?_

_Michelle, ma belle, these are words that go together well; My Michelle…_

_She remembered that song and how he would tap his fingers on the windowsill of her bedroom as he sang her to sleep at nights; his smooth melodious intonation a stark contrast to the coarse accent of his speaking voice. Michelle then, she supposed she had to be Michelle. Though she had always begged for other songs, she had never really been one for the Beatles - would he think of this one?_

_The greyhound had finally arrived and she was seated with her mother, the ratty cassette tape player in between them, as she chose a tape from her mother's coat pocket. She pressed play, and they listened to For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her by Simon and Garfunkel, as she left this place and said goodbye to that name. This time it was her mother's soft voice that lulled her._

It was always the same. A different place and a different name. Always a new Christian name, but with the same name Matthews. He had been Matthew and he would never guess that they used that name for their surname. But she was going to keep this one, Michelle. She leaned into her Mother's arm as she sang her to sleep.

_What a dream I had:_

_Pressed in organdy;_

_Clothed in crinoline of smoky burgundy;_

_Softer than the rain._

_I wandered empty streets_

_Down past the shop displays._

_I heard cathedral bells_

_Tripping down the alley ways,_

_As I walked on._

_And when you ran to me_

_Your cheeks flushed with the night._

_We walked on frosted fields of juniper and lamplight,_

_I held your hand._

_And when I awoke and felt you warm and near,_

_I kissed your honey hair with my grateful tears._

_Oh I love you, girl._

_Oh, I love you._

She was staring longingly through the window of a guitar shop at that moment. Displayed was a sunburst coloured Cort Standard with a maple fingerboard. She shouldn't… She really shouldn't… Rent was due today. She had a bit of savings that she should keep now that she actually had a place and a steady job, but… Her hand pressed against the glass and it was as if she could smell the mixture of tobacco and alcohol that had been her father's scent. He probably wouldn't have won any Father of the Year awards, but her young heart had loved him, so he couldn't have been that bad, could he? She couldn't play any instrument, had never lived long enough in a place to have had regular lessons growing up to learn anything (except an odd little tune on the piano her fingers knew by heart from some sort of memory that her brain did not know about), but that wasn't why she had wanted it. She had a room at home where she displayed her collection on the walls in cases. She didn't just buy any old guitar, that would be stupid. She bought the ones which made her think of her father, the ones she could imagine her father cradling in his arms, strumming away to "Muggle rock" – whatever that had been.

Michelle's slight frown had deepened now as she walked into the shop. She couldn't even remember the name she had been born with, or her identity. The years of new names and then being Michelle had caused her earliest years to fade. And her mother... Her mum refused to talk about it. She would only say he was dangerous, but had never explained why. Once she had said her father could appear and disappear in thin air, but she had stopped saying that when a social worker had written that down thoughtfully when they had been picked up by the police. She wouldn't even say her own original name.

She was buying the damn guitar, even if it was her last bit of money she needed for rent. The guitar would join her collection, it reminded her of him, and she only had so many memories of, she needed to keep him alive, even if the memories were full of imagined made-up nonsense.

Half an hour later she was at home, on her bed with the guitar nestled in her arms. Her fingers gently tracing the strings. She wished she could play it, play all of them that she had collected, but they were her dad's after all and not hers.

She heard a knocking and she placed it gently down, then traipsed downstairs. After unlocking the door she smiled at Mrs. Hudson her landlady, and her great big dog Kingston.

"Hello dear," the woman said kindly, "No, no, I won't come in. I only wanted to pick up the rent and tell you that Kenneth found the loveliest shade of wood you might want for one of your projects?"

It was so easy, the words falling from Michelle's lips as she weaved a story for the woman, but then it always had been. Telling made-up things had always been so much fun as a child, and what had once been fun had grown into a habit she didn't even think of as an adult, "Oh thank you Mrs. Hudson," her hands moved to her mouth, "But I'm so sorry… I can't pay rent today – you'd never believe what happened. I was out and this car just zoomed out of nowhere and hit this poor cat and I'm so sorry, I took it to the vet, and then I had to pay the bill. Please, I'm so sorry, I know it's such an inconvenience. I'm working double shift all week, would you mind if I -"

The woman gasped, "Oh, don't be silly," she took Michelle's arm gently, "You are such a sweet thing. Fancy witnessing such a horrible thing. And the man just drove off afterwards? Do you know, I keep telling Council they need to go harder with these people! Oh, Michelle, don't you worry about it at all, you always pay on time. We'll just add it on to next month's rent, alright dear?"

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson," Michelle bent down and scratched Kingston's ears, whose tongue lolled happily, "I promise – next month."

~

Later that night, Percy was by himself in the motel room. The television was on, playing some old sort of horror film with lots of fake blood. He had lost interest and gone to the bag with the horrible jumper that he had purchased that day. He held it out as he examined it, thinking absently, something wasn't right… Oh, he knew!

He went over to his trunk and fumbled inside it, pulling out a dung bomb. He had stashed a couple away just in case his brothers caught on early where he was and tried to chase after him. He hoped nobody in the next room heard him, as the walls weren't very thick – although, to be honest, the neighbours could very well live with it if they did hear. The noises Percy had to put up with sometimes in the middle of the night – they were not innocent noises at all! He threw the dung bomb at the jumper, and covered his face while it went off. In a few minutes he went over and picked the balcony window up, shaking the jumper out into the air. Then he shut the window, pulled the jumper over his head and crawled under the sheets of his bed after he turned the television box off.

Curling up he pulled the jumper to his face to inhale and when he breathed out he could not deny the tremor and the slight sob. The colour of the horrible sweater, and now with the odour…

It was just how Fred's clothes were. His brother. The little boy he had looked after as a child, and then in Hogwarts how Fred had in turn taken care of him in his own way. He remembered once, overhearing a sniggering Slytherin calling him Perfect Percy, then had remembered the savagely protective, _"Oi! That's a privileged name and only the Weasleys call him that, so shut up before I force a dung bomb down your gob!"_ and then threw a crumpled piece of paper at the offender dangerously hard.

He missed Fred. He missed his brother. Percy couldn't stop the tears that night.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Chapter Ten._ **

“Hey… I was thinking. You want to wait out here?”

Ginny looked up at Charlie, blinking. They were outside a small theatre in Muggle London, The Orange Tree. It was a building of brick, fashioned Victorian Gothic and looked so small you could fit it in your pocket. From a few questions around the place they had found out where Darius was performing, and Charlie looked nervous.

“No, of course not. I like Darius. Come on,” she tugged at his sleeve and Charlie begrudgingly followed. They stepped into a forest – well, a theatre in the round, but the sets dazzled too much for it to be without magic.

The cast and crew meandered through sprigs of holly and leaves of silverthorn, carrying set pieces. Little lights twinkling zipped here and there, amongst the leaves and around the place so fast the eye could not keep up, and in the midst came whispered sounds, as if the woodland held secrets.

Ginny looked up at Charlie, who let out a rush of air.

“Merlin…”

“How has he gotten away with this?” Ginny breathed, and as Charlie asked a crew member where Darius was, she turned about to see that there were no seats, but toadstools and lily pads and nooks in tree branches. 

The crew member excitedly gave them directions to a dressing room but warned that there was a busload of school children about to arrive for the matinee, so he wouldn’t be able to be long. They passed through to the back, past costumed fey folk in earthen tones and Charlie had to regather his bearings before hearing murmurs of Shakespearian quotes. Oh. A Midsummers Nights Whatever.

He knocked on the door of the dressing room belonging to the leads, and a woman in a robe of white with flowers in her hair winked as she flounced out.

“Who is it?”

Charlie paused, but Ginny had already ducked in. Darius looked up from where he sat at the dressing table, seeing their reflection in the mirror. He made no reaction.

“Lock the door, would you?” he sat, wearing an open robe of midnight blue.

Ginny did so, as Charlie stood back, and the young man straightened the curled horns carefully placed under his thick dark hair. He tilted his face in the mirror, and seemingly satisfied, took his wand from a chased silver wand box and with a soft sigh of relief removed the glamor from his face. The fine, delicate cheekbones remained but the smooth skin shifted to mottled scars, the skin mishappen and curving one side of his mouth into a frown. One of his eyes, the colour of the silver most probably in his father’s vast coffers shifted to that of a faded, overcast sky.

“Honestly, sometimes it’s more comfortable wearing heels all night,” he rubbed his face wearily, and then gave proper notice to Charlie in the mirrored reflection.

“… Hey, Darius,” Charlie offered weakly.

“Mm?” Darius took a palette of eyeshadow, eyeing the soft gold, “Darius? Why so formal, Charlie?”

Ginny turned from the thespian to her brother, bemused.

“Hey, Kings,” Charlie amended in a mutter, making her eyes widen.

“That’s better,” Darius chose a woodland green, but first applied some primer from a tube. “Hello, Quicksilver,” he nodded to Ginny in the reflection, “Hello Harry Potter’s girlfriend.”

She frowned.

“Oh, apologies. I mean the girl who will always be known as Harry Potter’s girlfriend.”

Charlie interjected, “Enough.”

“No, really,” Darius continued, “Even when you’re - you want to be a Quidditch player yes? That’s all the worth the papers will remember you by. Always Potter’s girlfriend. Even when holding up the World C –”

Charlie’s voice was sharp, “Stop it,” but Ginny herself moved forward and whopped Darius’ hand, taking the makeup and brush away from him as his fingers had betrayed him with their slight tremble, “You’re a prat Darius Masters, turn your face to the left.” She started applying the eyeshadow.

“I want a gold shimmer over afterwards,” he said.

“You’re not Oberon, you’ll get a bit of moonlight silver and that’s all.”

He frowned but did not argue, and continued to Charlie, feigning innocence, “What? It’s why we couldn’t cut it after all, yes?”

Ginny let out a soft hiss, “Holy Mab.”

Charlie lent against the doorway, not looking at either of them, then he muttered, “The amount of magic you’ve got out there would start a damned Ministry inquiry.”

Darius snorted, “Oh relax. It’s just a few charms… Flitwick would be impressed.”

“Did you get permission?” Ginny asked.

“Oh for – it’s for the children.”

Ginny looked at him.

“- And if we get good reviews, we get funding – look, do you think Titania’s woods should be paper mache and birthday party streamers?”

Charlie rubbed his face, “Look. We’re here for Percy. Have you seen him?” 

Darius shook his head till Ginny pinched his ear for moving while she was applying the make-up, “No – ow. I deserved that. No. I saw him at the battle, but… The snake would know?”

Charlie mumbled from his spot, “She died.”

Darius looked horrified for a moment, before his face smoothed back, “I.. I didn’t hear that. I left right after… I mean, I saw Percy carrying her from the field, but I assumed... Hoped, I guess…”

“You don’t seem surprised he’s missing?” Ginny asked curiously.

Darius bit his lip, “… I mean. That’s what he does, doesn’t he? Run away?” he avoided her gaze awkwardly, “Not that I can talk, being here. I guess it’s in all of us. At least the want to do so,” his voice trailed as he looked gently at Charlie. Charlie would not look back.

Ginny was finished with the makeup and she looked at both of them again, “Alright. That’s it. Spill. I want details.”

Darius stood, and slid out of his robe. He took his panpipe prop that Puck his character played, “Nothing. No details. Now I’ve got a generation to inspire,” he took his wand and with a swish and a slight grunt his glamor moved back over his face. He winced and shook his head. His face was smooth again, pale, like Chantilly cream.

“- It’s not only Percy. We were – we were talking to Penny Clearwater. Darius, she’s doing badly. She… The Ministry put her in Azkaban. You wouldn’t recognise her. We want to take her out to dinner. Anyway… She was your friend. And she said she would only come with us if you came too.”

A look flashed over Darius’ face and he let out a laugh, “Did she now?” he looked to Charlie and said, “Tell her I uh. Wouldn’t want to _impose.”_

“Darius…”

He hitched his wand into the back of his pants, fabric that was fashioned to look like moss and leaves. He gave them a look, “It’s for the funding. It’s just a few charms.”

“Please.”

Darius shrugged apologetically, and moved to the door. Charlie unlocked it, and for a moment they looked at each other. Darius swallowed, “- Say hi to your mum for me,” his hand hovered over Charlie's arm as if he wanted to do more, before he turned and hurried out. Charlie looked at his exit longingly, then grunted at a sharp jab to his gut.

“Ow!!” he turned on Ginny.

“What in the nine levels of hell was that all about?” she implored, her mouth agape.

“It – I –” Charlie spluttered, “- Mum used to send him Easter eggs!”

Ginny looked up at him, her face difficult to read. She then began, "... You know. I could never figure you... I thought maybe you really just... cared only for your dragons. But you.... You're actually denying now to have...."

Charlie was startled at the rush of emotion that spilled from him, _"What?"_

She said nothing more, but her eyes were just downhearted, "It's just sad, is all." 

“I’m not sad,” he retorted defensively. 

“… Let’s go, Charlie. There’s other leads.” She then slipped out of the room. 

~

Bill had never felt such pride for his wife as he watched her from the doorway of the kitchen. Her hair was pulled up out of her face and her cheeks flushed red as she flicked her wand about, directing the dishes in the sink as they cleaned themselves, while flipping through some cooking magazines deciding what the main meal would be the next day for the family. Harry was with her, cutting onions too. He had made it a habit to come over every night to make dinner for the family. Bill heard Fleur muttering in disgusted French at some of the pictured meals, but then seemed to be satisfied with one particular option, as she left it out on the table to use for the next day. Harry gave her a look, and playfully turned the page to a different meal. They started to bicker. Bill had known about his mother's reservations when he first made it known that he was dating Fleur, and then had seen her controlled and reluctant politeness when they had announced their engagement. He had had to laugh. His poor mum. She knew that disagreeing with something he was doing would make him want it all the more, he had always been like that – and he had known how painful it must have been for her "going along with it" until he "would see sense".

He remembered her rather high-pitched, "Well, this is very sudden!" response, and the awkward way in which she had embraced Fleur.

"Mum, I'm not dying," he had muttered in her ear when she had moved to give him a hug. She had been somewhat startled that he had seemed to see through her facade, but she had laughed and wiped away a few tears, before pecking him on the cheek.

His Mother had only seen (or "wanted to see" Great Aunt Muriel had bluntly - and to be honest, aptly - had stated in the way she always did) the aloof woman that Fleur was when she was not well acquainted with people. And then there was Fleur's beauty. Her willowy figure, her elegant poise, her petite features, her shimmering hair… Perhaps everybody had assumed that he had only been enamored with her looks. That was something he had never really understood – people saw her and seemed to forget that she had faced a dragon. They didn't see her staunch loyalty, her strength, how she loved her family... The dangerous way she flicked Harry with a dish-washing towel. The way she lunged about when he came after her.

Bill could sense his mind rambling, but how he adored his wife.

She never complained but he knew she missed their quiet and beautiful Shell Cottage, with the sounds of the gentle waves lapping the shoreline, where they had made love wherever and whenever they had wanted, as if on a whim. He moved over to the back of her and with his cheek nuzzled the back of her neck – with so many people in the house and with so little privacy they had not had a chance in so long to be really intimate. And with his body feeling so weighed upon with loss and grief, he missed the closeness. He missed her.

She was his little spitfire. He had remembered first saying that to her, and she had looked up at him, uncomprehending, "Spit…Fire?"

He hadn't really relished the idea of trying to describe that he had just called her a small caterpillar that can sting, so he had just answered, "Yeah, it's a flower."

She had obviously found out what it had really meant later, but it was too late. The term of endearment had stuck.

"Eez your Father ready?" she asked, moving back into his touch.

"In a few moments, yes," he answered.

Himself and Fleur, Ron, Hermione, Charlie and Ginny had searched everywhere, through all Percy's close contacts and nobody had heard a word from him. Everybody had been genuinely surprised. A couple of them had been worried, wondering if something had happened to him. But there had been no news. Till his Dad had brought up a distant cousin, a Gregory Prewett – the accountant. Perhaps Percy had gone to him? It seemed utterly absurd to Bill, the possibility that Percy had decided to live amongst Muggles. The man who had always dreamed of being the leader of the wizarding world – but they had no choice, no other lead. And he had broken his wand… Something Bill had never thought Percy would ever do either. He shivered at that thought – what sort of consequences would that action have entailed?

In a moment he heard his dad's footsteps come down the stairs, and he gave Fleur a loving squeeze before joining him at the fireplace. The very sight of his father made Bill want to cry – he was ashen faced and quiet… Stumbled over his words as if speaking was too much effort. Ever since Fred's death he had gained a stoop to his gait. Bill had had the sudden realisation that though he was only in his late forties, now his Dad looked _old._

"I had… I had the Ministry connect… Connect his fireplace to – t-to the Floo Network… Just for tonight," his Dad said vaguely. Bill murmured a noise of assent. His Father had already told him that at least half a dozen times.

Bill took from his mother's flowerpot on the mantel the glittery silver powder into the flames (pocketing some for the return journey too) and at once they roared an emerald green.

 _38 Kestrel Way, London,_ Bill remembered as his dad first walked into the harmless flames, muttering the address.

In a few seconds Bill followed and once he was in the flames he said the address out loud. Different fireplaces spun around him until he knew he had come to the right one, and he stepped out, more elegantly than he thought he would have.

Immediately he spotted an upturned meal on the carpet and Gregory Prewett was on the other side of the room, his hand over his face as he swore, "Can you please – I have never – not in years!" he was spluttering, "Don't you need to get permission to do that? Have a little sense! Why the hell would I be expecting two full grown men to just come out of my fireplace as calm as you please? What if I'd had _visitors?"_ he stopped, his eyes widening at the state of Bill's face. Bill blinked self-consciously – he always forgot about his face, and he moved to the side, looking at the blaring television which was on some sort of gardening programme. The gardener was waving about, excited at some sort of soil. How could you be excited over soil?

"We're sorry… Very sorry…" his father was saying quietly, circling his hat around nervously in his hands.

"Reparo!" Bill pointed his wand at the broken plate and upset meal, and immediately as if the moment had been in reverse, the plate mended and the meal slopped back on to it, on the table.

"Now – how dare you! You ask permission before you do magic in my house again, do you hear me? Permission!" Gregory cried out, and Bill had to repress a laugh at the bespectacled man, dressed respectfully with a neat little bow-tie. He hoped that this was his work clothes and he didn't dress up like this just for himself. So this was their family Squib. He'd heard from cousin Mafalda about him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" his father seemed to have lost any shred of confidence that he had once had, so Bill sighed and stepped forward, ignoring Gregory's wince at his face.

"Uncle Gregory," Bill began, feeling odd at calling this stranger an uncle. He was his mother's cousin – what were you supposed to call your mother's cousin? But his daughter Mafalda had been his cousin… Sort of… So he supposed he should call the man that title, "I'm Bill Weasley –"

"Yes," Gregory said, sighing, "I know. Well, not that you're Bill, but that you're a Weasley. And you must be Arthur," he nodded curtly to his dad. Well, he seemed half decent now he had gotten over the shock of two men entering his lounge room through the fireplace and spoiling his dinner.

"Well, we're here about my brother Percy. He… He left home you see. There was a war – You-Know-Who was defeated…"

Gregory's eyes widened at such news, which made Bill wonder if he ever saw or heard from his daughter Mafalda. Surely that would be news you would tell a person?

"Thank Merlin," Gregory muttered under his breath, at the news of Voldemort's defeat. It seemed that though he had been so anti-magic, that piece of news had made his tongue slip into habits he would have learned growing up.

"Yes, that's brilliant news. But it's Fred you see… He died in the battle –" Bill's eyes wandered over to check on his dad, but Arthur seemed to be staring blankly at the television, as if he was not even involved in the conversation and had not heard Fred being mentioned, "-He died and… Percy… I don't know why, but he's gone. He's always been an odd kid, he's probably got some idea in his head and bottled it up and he's gone… Snapped his wand, and gone, taken everything of his. We were wondering – we know it's a long shot, but we were wondering if you've seen him."

Gregory obviously was not good at concealing things, for his face betrayed him.

"You've seen him?" Bill asked hopefully, "You know where he is? Please, tell us!"

Gregory's hand fiddled with his spectacles nervously before answering, "I don't know where he is."

"You're lying!" Bill cried out, "I know it! Is he here? Percy! _Percy!"_ he circled the lounge room, looking up at the second floor ceiling as if he could see through it. A surge of emotion for his idiot lost brother who he really began to realise he _missed_ hit him, and he had to hold back a choked sob.

"No, he's not here, I'm telling you I don't know where he is," Gregory answered, but still with that guilt.

"But you've seen him!" Bill said firmly. He knew it! They were one step closer to finding him!

"Yes, I've seen him –"

"When? Where? Did he say anything about where he was going?" Bill pelted questions.

Gregory swallowed, "I don't know where he is, I keep telling you. He came to me, but I threw him out on the street."

There was deathly silence between the three men and the gardening guru nattering in the background made it all far more palpable.

"You…Threw him out –" Bill began.

But his father interrupted him, and all of a sudden he was focused and Arthur Weasley again, "You threw my son out? Gregory, you tell me now where he is!" he began to shake, "I've lost two boys, if you know something – for Merlin's sake, let me bring one back home to Molly!"

Gregory stood straighter at this and said with savage defense, "Well why should I care about you lot? All I wanted was a peaceful normal life! You all treated –"

"Molly never did! Molly never did and you've betrayed her!" his Dad retorted shrilly.

"I –"

"Oh, that's right, a few teased you. A grown man and you ran away. Any man worth his salt would punch the bastard insulting him and have left it at that, but you, you just up and left, and now you say when my son was lost and desperate you threw him to the streets?"

Gregory tried to justify himself, "He's hardly a boy. He's twenty something isn't he? Can look after himself!"

Arthur moved forward so quickly Bill was uncertain whether he should restrain his dad, but instead of doing anything violent Arthur just threw a finger out at the man, "He's used magic all his life and now he's snapped his wand. It's- It's the equivalent of going out into the world suddenly blinded! He doesn't know how anything works in the Muggle world! How could you abandon Molly's boy?"

Gregory looked pale and remorseful, pacing his little room a few times before he grabbed something, pointed it at the television box and turned it off in frustration, leaving them all in complete silence. Finally he said quietly, "Fine. I'll find him."

"And you will tell us immediately –" Arthur began.

"No. Oh no," Gregory turned to face them both, "No, I'll find him Arthur, you have my word on that. And I owe Molly that, she was always kind to me – I – I regretted sending him away, the moment he was gone. But if he doesn't want to be found, then he doesn't want to be found."

Bill replied heatedly, "We have a right to know! We're his family!"

"Yes," Gregory answered quietly, "You are. Which begs the question why would he run from you all?"

Bill of course could not answer this, but he muttered, "We've just been through trauma. Merlin knows what he's thinking. He needs us… My mum is beside herself – Uncle Gregory please, we have a right to know."

"You keep saying that Bill, but you really don't have any right. He's legally of age. He's left willingly. I'll try and convince him you are all concerned for him of course, but I'm not forcing anything from him. You say I was teased by a few Arthur so lightly – my life was one great misery. Even my parents were ashamed of me. Whatever has sent that boy away, I'll protect his right to it."

Bill felt his last bit of hope disappearing, and he had the urge to slump to the ground in defeat. His silly nerd of a brother. He hadn't done enough over the years to show that he loved him. He'd teased him too much… He'd thought it obvious that through the teasing there had been love. But if Percy had left so easily, perhaps it had never been obvious to him after all? His serious little brother nobody had quite been able to understand in the family. Bill was not able to repress this second sob.

Gregory looked at him pitifully, and said firmly, "I'll look after him, but that's all. You'll have to trust me on that. And don't try and watch this place, I might have been living here in Muggle London for years, but I still know my rights with the Ministry. Now… Good day."

~

“… And so, he proved no help at all.”

Bill was up in his and Charlie’s old room, his feet up on the desk as Charlie looked over reports in Slovak. Slowly and steadily he was translating them for himself, but Bill could tell he was distracted.

“Hey.”

“mm?” Charlie looked up, “… Oh. Yeah. Um. Well, sometimes Squibs can get like that. It’s no wonder, really.”

“What’s going on, Quicksilver?”

Charlie seemed to blanche at the nickname, then with a shrug, “Nothing. I just have to get these reports in order. There’s more red tape in Romania, then…” he didn’t finish the sentence and threw his quill down, “I just have to get ready to go soon.” He scratched the back of his neck. Something had been itching all day, in between the back of his shoulders.

“Leave?” Bill gave him a look.

“Look, don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything – but you can’t leave. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re all in pieces –“

“Don’t be a – look – what good am I even doing here? I can’t even…”

Bill clicked his fingers at his head irritatingly, “Hey. _Hey._ You want to come down from the clouds a minute from your fairytales and magical faraway kingdoms?”

Charlie slapped his hand away, “I said don’t.”

“- Look, I know it’s not easy for you, not being able to just sprite yourself away at whim. But you and I. Us both. _We._ Have to keep it together,” he dropped his feet to the ground and leaned forward, “Alright? It’s down to us.” 

Charlie scratched himself again, “I know – don’t look at me like that, I said _I know.”_

Bill got up and eyed him, then let out a shrug, “Do you though, Charlie? You just… You’re not helping anyone holing yourself away up here. We don’t have the luxury of hiding anymore. You have a family.”

He got up and muttered a swear, before leaving the room. Charlie dropped back in his seat, with a frustrated sigh, and scratched again. He jumped when from his Quidditch jersey a tiny, twinkling fey sprung out, and after giving a nasty nip flew away.

_What th… Nothing but the odd charm, my arse._

How did he even – Charlie thumped the table with his fist and went back to translating. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. But he couldn’t concentrate on the report, and found himself brushing away tears.

“ – Damnit,” he cursed, and when the tears wouldn’t stop, he gave up and started weeping heavily, “Damnit, damnit, god bloody damnit!”


	11. Chapter 11

**_Chapter Eleven._ **

"Good afternoon, Mr. Weatherby."

Percy looked up from where he was seated, at a café of Latinus' choosing. The man smiled down at him – oddly enough, it seemed genuine, which was even more disturbing to Percy. Percy moved his mouth into what he hoped was a reciprocating smile, but he could feel it was more like a grimace. He still did not feel right about this. Latinus slid in the seat opposite from Percy and placed a briefcase between them on the table, he looked around, nodding, "My little girl loves this place."

"Your little girl?" Percy repeated. This greasy scumbag had a family? He added bitterly, "You bring her to the same place you do your dealings?"

Latinus ignored this jibe and popped the locks of the briefcase, opening the lid. Percy peered inside at the professional looking portfolio, and took it out curiously, flipping it open. Everything he would ever need to prove he existed was inside, including fake references ("Just for jobs, you know, to say you're reliable and the like. There are actual people from legitimate places there. Hardly seems fair that you made a respectable name for yourself back home, and don't have no evidence of that here for the Muggles"), a bank account and card, a police check, a social security number, a whole new birth certificate and many other things.

"You did all this in a matter of days?" Percy asked.

"Got magic fingers, friend," Latinus grinned.

"Don't call me friend," Percy muttered; then added reluctantly, "This is all impressive."

"Course its impressive," Latinus looked insulted at the implication that it might not have been, "I'm a criminal, not a crook."

"Well, it all certainly looks legitimate," Percy sighed, and from his coat he pulled out a brown paper bag with all the cash inside. He held it out and watched as all of his life's savings disappeared somewhere unknown with a discreet wave of the man's wand, after he made certain it was the right amount.

"Well," Latinus said, holding out his hand, "Good luck to you. If you ever need to fake your death, or create an entirely new identity again, or hunt down the location of your archnemesis, you know where to find me."

Percy did not shake his hand.

"Yeah," Latinus said as he got up to leave, "Guess you're right. You're not interesting enough to have any kind of archnemesis."

~

Those few days had gone incredibly slowly. His life seemed to be in pause mode. He had always been busy in life. With school activities, homework, being on the Charms club, being captain of the Hogwarts debating team, then there were Prefect duties and Head Boy duties – even during the school holidays he had thrown himself into essays and going to different lectures that were taking place and organising study groups for his group of peers. And the moment he had left school he had thrown himself into quite the career. He had neglected Penny while working relentlessly at the Ministry; he had always thought it was because he wanted to make something of himself, and a life for them. But now during that week, without a job, sitting alone by himself and watching incredibly mind-numbing Muggle television – he realised it was because he didn't like to be by himself too much. He even found himself a bore.

He had to snap out of whatever this was. The mopes, the doldrums, whatever his mother had called it. He knew now he had all of the identification, he had no excuse not to plan his life. He had always planned everything. Why now did the very thought cause him to be riddled with anxiety?

He waited for the bus, gripping tightly to the briefcase. It somehow tethered him, in the same way that riding the circular routes on the bus did that he had started to do. Sitting and watching scenery and people and… What was he even doing with his life?

Snap. Out of it. Percy! He wanted to slap himself.

Eventually the bus came, the hissing and snorting monster that stopped in front of him. A couple of young school students pushed in front of him rudely, but this did not bother him as he waited his turn to go on. Thankfully it was not the same bus driver as from the first day whom he had seriously offended. From his pocket he took a bunch of coins, looking at them hesitantly - was that enough? It still made him nervous.

"You should get a Travel Card, mate," the driver said as he handed over what looked like the right change.

"Oh?" Percy asked uncertainly, but didn't want to look stupid, so added, "Yeah, I've been meaning to.."

He took his ticket and went to find a seat – away from the rowdy school children.

Well – that hadn't been too hard, had it? He gripped his ticket tightly in his hand, not wanting to be accused later of not purchasing one.

The bus lurched away on its journey, and Percy found himself beginning to relax again at the familiar monotony. For some silly reason he remembered an odd memory as the scenery out the bus window seemed to fly past…

He'd been in second year at Hogwarts and he was home for the holidays. He'd heard his Mother's low voice with Charlie and his dad, "He just needs the extra help, that's all… Charlie, you're an expert rider… Just try and help him a little…"

He had hung his head in utter humiliation. He was twelve, and all his life he had been able to get away with not being able to ride properly, camouflaged with all of his other siblings who had all been perfectly adept. Even little Ron seemed to be quite the natural at it… It had been easy to disguise his hesitance at flying with the fact he was more interested in his books. The idea of flying had always seemed so ridiculous to Percy. Wizards had feet, not wings. Sure, he had loved watching Quidditch, but the idea of himself zooming at almost lightening speed… It made him feel positively ill… How easy it looked to fall, fall, fall and break your neck!

Madame Hooch had written a note in his school report, _"He is easily the worst student I think I've seen in all my years in teaching… How on earth he can slip off a broom without actually being off the ground yet is beyond me. I don't think he's incapable of it; it merely seems to be nerves. If he just applies the same sort of confidence he has with his books to his flying, he'd be fantastic. My apologies Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, I wanted to avoid this in his first year, but it really is worrying now he is in his second… It is not compulsory of course, but I had thought with him being a Weasley, you would like to know."_

__

__

A few moments later Charlie walked out and grinned at Percy, "Hey Perce, let's fly a bit together."

Percy looked at him sourly, "I know why you're flying with me. I'm the worst student Madame Hooch has ever seen."

Charlie came over and slapped his hand on Percy's shoulder, "… Yeah, well. Come on mate, we've got the whole day."

And they did. They practiced for hours. Charlie had been patient, trying to relax his brother who would just start trembling the moment he was on the broom. It was actually lucky if he even managed to get on the broom. Charlie folded his arms thoughtfully, then came over to Percy and to his surprise took hold of his robes and lifted him up. Then he placed him back down, "Yep, it's as I thought. You're a light kid. Right, well, if one of these can carry the Braun twins together over the clock tower for a dare that one night we all snuck in Fire Whisky, it can hold both of us."

Percy looked at his brother confused till he saw Charlie pick up his own broom and he started bleating, "No, no please, Charlie, no!"

"I'm hoping Mum doesn't see this, alright kid, come here."

Percy started to cry and shake, "No! You fly too fast, I'll fall off!"

"How in Hades are you going to fall off if I'm holding you?" Charlie asked, raising a brow.

"If you think it's so safe, why are you hoping Mum won't see us?" Percy retorted.

"Because – look, just come here," he took Percy's arm and dragged him over, "Alright, stand like this in front of me. Yeah, like this. I've got you, remember? Alright?"

Through his frightened sniveling Percy finally nodded, and whimpered when Charlie said firmly, "Up!"

He mounted the broom with Charlie's arm firmly around his waist and could feel his heart ramming against his rib cage in fear.

"I don't want to, please don't make meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee– !" Percy squealed as he felt himself soaring in the air, not liking to think too much on the fact that if Charlie was holding on to him how was he directing the broom correctly?

He shut his eyes as tightly as he could as Charlie laughed almost hysterically in his ear. He felt so vulnerable swerving up and down the sky and he silently prayed to whatever divine entities were out there that he'd land with at least the ability to walk after the inevitable injuries that would be sustained from this.

"You just need to really feel the awesomness of flying Perce!" he heard his brother shouting at him. It was at this moment that Percy turned his head and emptied his stomach. He heard Charlie swear as some of the sick blew back on his robes from the whipping wind, and he began his descent until they landed on the ground.

Immediately Percy turned and fell flat on his face, shivering with cold terror. He didn't like heights, it was unnatural and he sobbed, "I don't want to do it anymore! Don't make me! Brooms are stupid – I'm going to learn to apparate when I'm older anyway!"

Charlie bent down on his haunches gently beside him and Percy felt his brother's hand ruffle the back of his head, muttering soothingly, "I'm sorry… I thought if you'd felt what it was really like, it'd boost your confidence. Come on Perce, don't cry… Look, rest up and Bill and I will take you into the Muggle village later to see one of those movies. There's something called Beetlejuice I reckon we'd get a kick out of."

Percy scrambled up waveringly, and looked down at Charlie, "I want to do it one more time. I want to try."

"You sure?" Charlie looked skeptical.

"Yes," Percy was quite firm, so Charlie stood.

"Right. By your broom," Charlie said.

Something inside Percy had seemed to change. He wasn't sure if it had been the overwhelming shame that he had crumbled so easily into frightened tears or the dislike of the resigned pity in Charlie's voice, but he stood by his broom and concentrated, and with all of his might held his hand out, "Up!" he shouted to the broom.

And the broom flew up and smacked Percy right on the nose. His hands flew up in pain as blood began to flow and he looked at Charlie in utter mortification when they both heard a double pair of laughter from the nearby bushes.

A fierceness seemed to come over Charlie (possibly added with the hopelessness that his little brother really was beyond help and frustration that he had been patient the whole day) and he marched over to the bushes, "That's it, you little imps! I told you to leave him alone! I'm talking to Mum!"

There was a rustling of the bushes and Percy heard one of the twins begin to chortle, "Oh, like that's scary –" Charlie began to walk to the house and the other twin yelled out, "NONONO, DON'T!"

"RUN!" the other twin yelled and out popped two identical red-headed and freckled mischievous little boys.

_"Petrificus Totalus!"_

Bill's voice had caused them to at once stop running and fall flat on their faces rigidly. Bill smiled at Percy – ever since he'd graduated from Hogwarts the year before he had been taking full advantage of his rights as an adult wizard.

"Thanks, Bill. They'd have gotten away otherwise," Charlie turned back.

"Don't worry. I'll take them to Mum," Bill said, _"Mobilicorpus._ Idiots, the both of you. You'd been warned and warned. You better not do this stuff to Gin when she's old enough or I'll see you live in the expandable cabinet for a week!"

Percy smiled faintly at that memory of the years before he had mastered the broom (though, he still maintained to himself that apparition was a far better mode of transport), just as the bus lurched to a halt.

He wasn't really paying attention to any of the people that came aboard, until a youth with a hooded jumper holding what looked like a portfolio under his arm came down the aisle. He blinked in shock at seeing the redhead, and before Percy could do anything the youth pulled off his earphones and said, "Percy Weasley?"

Percy looked up at Dean Thomas, one of Ron's roommates from Hogwarts and – hadn't he been _dating Ginny_ for awhile? - and immediately felt as sick as he had done those years before he had managed to ride a broom. He couldn't just disapperate, he'd been seen already! What the hell was he going to do?

Shit!

He had no idea what to do as Dean Thomas stared down at him incredulously. The bus lurched away on its journey again and Percy looked out of the window at the passing scenery, but the young man still stood staring at him. Percy fidgeted uncomfortably and started weighing in his mind how bad it would be to jump off at the next stop and bolt. He would be completely lost, something which he did not really relish the idea of, but he did not want to be here at all either. He gripped the briefcase on his lap, tightly.

Finally Dean decided to sit beside Percy, and they continued the bus ride in awkward silence as Dean opened up his portfolio and started rifling through the papers inside. Percy could feel panic rising up in him and his eyes began to sting with helpless tears. He leant his elbow on the window beside him and covered his mouth with his trembling hand.

Finally Dean said with a slight shrug, gesturing to the portfolio, "It's for Slade. You know, the – well, I don't suppose you do, it's the art uni. I've got an appointment to see someone today, and I'm showing him some of my best pieces. Look –" he took a piece of paper out and Percy looked down. He could not repress his intake of breath at the portrait of Professor Dumbledore, with his half-moon spectacles at the end of his crooked nose and his brilliant blue eyes. Everything was perfectly depicted, those wizened old hands clasped together, and the look of deep thoughtfulness, "-I'd spoken to a few people at Hogwarts before, well, everything – and they've got quite a lot of contacts in different areas and schools and organisations for Muggle borns who want to go back home for a bit after school, know what I mean? And I've always been interested in art, that's sort of what I was wanting to pursue before I got the letter from Hogwarts. Anyway, this man, apparently his sister is a witch, and so he understands about us, and if I'm good enough and get accepted next year, he'll waiver the fact that I don't have any evidence of Muggle recognised secondary education. I want to go to Slade next year, and not next semester. Mum wants me to enroll as soon as I can though, but the way I see it, is after everything it would all be a waste if I didn't graduate from Hogwarts. I didn't really get to finish school properly, what with everything… And I'm sure that even though Hogwarts means nothing in these circles and I can't use that as any sort of qualification, he'll want to see evidence that I completed some sort of schooling before he vouches for me. I mean, it's not just about the work as such, but if you're capable of finishing something that's important, I reckon."

There was silence, and Percy said nothing, continuing to look out at the scenery. So Dean continued, "Mum had kittens after everything. I mean, she doesn't know the half of it of course… Bet she'd go straight to Downing Street and cause quite the ruckus if she did, but she knows enough. She knows it was dangerous. I kind of want a break too, you know? I mean, I'll eventually go back of course; you'd have to be completely bonkers to run from magic when it's in your veins. But my mum's been through enough, so has my step-dad, he's always been good to me. I disappeared for awhile there… Made my mum think of how my dad just left, those years ago, and she's been in a right state. So I owe her to be safe as she calls it, for a little while, especially as I'm going back to finish off at Hogwarts. But afterwards I've promised I'd stay and get a proper degree here. She's trying to set me up with all these daughters of friends of hers, hoping I'll settle down here I guess and not want to go back. But I'm going to eventually."

Percy pulled Penny's ribbon from his pocket, and he fiddled with it uncomfortably, still not wanting to look at Dean. The bus stopped. People came on. He couldn’t escape.

"A lot of Muggle borns are saying screw it to the whole thing. Look at how the Ministry handled everything," Dean paused as Percy made a deep sound in the back of his throat, but continued, "I mean; they can blame it on You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters all they like, but its rubbish to just say that's all it was. They must have tapped into some sort of already existing dissent. Did the Ministry do anything to protect them? Obviously not. There's always going to be that hidden undercurrent. I felt it at school, o' course it wasn't from everybody, but it wasn't just from the Slytherins either, no matter how much everyone likes to blame all this stuff on them and their families. And it can't just be ended with destroying a tyrant. It's the ideas that remain, and as long as there are pure bloods and Muggle borns, there's always going to be that rift, no matter how much everyone is intent on unification or whatever wank Kingsley is spouting about now. There's a bucket load of reconciliation and compensation the Ministry needs to sort out. How on earth did the Ministry even get so corrupted in the first place? You can't just say it was just there towards the end, corruption's like a parasite, it grows. I guess a lot of people feel betrayed," he then looked to Percy, for the first time sharply, "And have a lot of resentment for the Ministry."

Percy tried to avoid the stare of the younger man, but his accusing gaze was unwavering, "A lot of people can't stand you, Percy Weasley. I'm not – I'm not trying to be malicious or anything, understand? But I've been thinking, and a lot of people were sent to Azkaban. A lot of good people, a lot of friends. Wasn't your girlfriend a –"

Percy squeezed his eyes shut, interrupting him with a hard swallow, “Yes. She was.”

It was then that he noticed Dean was trembling too, tears falling down his own face, "I'm not trying to be malicious," he repeated his earlier sentiment, "But I'm trying to understand. Loads of us were just school-kids. I mean, it was like bleeding Nazi Germany. How could the Ministry fail us so? You – you were one of them. I just want an answer Percy, I'm not pointing fingers, I know a load of it was based on fear. You came back, you fought in the last battle, you're a Weasley, you were always a good sort underneath it all. But why did the system fail and collapse as piss easy as a house of cards? I mean, the nonsense of a person having taken magic by force if they couldn't prove magical heritage! Who thought up that sort of crap? Everybody knew it was all bollocks and that's what makes it even more of a crime! The Ministry got away with legislating absolute crap not even they truly believed, but crap that they could use to screw people over. And can you promise it won't happen again? I mean, really and truly guarantee it? Of course you can't…" Dean stopped looking at Percy, and looked ahead, "Of course you bloody can't."

There was quite a long silence this time. The bus stopped once again, two giggly students stepped off. What could he say? He couldn't apologise. Talk was cheap. There was so much blood on his hands… He missed the days of being a kid at the Burrow. Of getting the letter from Hogwarts, where his biggest problem had been embarrassment over his tattered robes.

"I mean, I know your brother was killed," Dean said quietly, and there was a pause, "I'm so, so sorry mate."

Percy almost jumped as he felt Dean's hand on his arm, "I'm really sorry… Seamus said you were there with him… At the explosion."

Percy nodded awkwardly as Dean seemed to think for a moment before saying, "You didn't go to his funeral – I went. Everybody was there, but you. Every single person you can think of, but you. Ginny told me you'd gone missing. And here I find you in Muggle London."

Percy stiffened at the inevitable course of this conversation that he had been expecting all along. Was he going to threaten to tell them all where he was? Was he going to demand an explanation? Was he going to try and blackmail him? And what in all honesty could he do? He had no place to ask favours or seek out any promises to keep the fact Dean had seen him, a secret. Dean had loyalty towards Ron and Ginny, not to him. Especially not to him.

But he did not say anything further, and silence was between them till the next stop (the bus driver started berating the rowdy children).

As the bus came to a halt, the end of Percy's journey, he mumbled an "Excuse me" as he stepped over Dean to get out.

"This is my stop," he said feebly, and Dean said nothing as he stared up at Percy, "Good luck with Slade… I remember you used to draw lots of Gryffindor lions for Quidditch matches and they were marvelous, really life-like. You'll do well…" a fresh bout of tears stained his face and he cleared his throat, he paused, swallowed, tried again, "I'm sorry Dean. I'm full of shit. But I don't know what to say, I mean – how can I apologise or explain… There's no justification. I just sat there and let things happen. I saw friends of mine go to Azkaban, I sat through trials, I couldn't do a damn thing,” he viciously corrected himself, “I _didn't_ do a damn thing…" the bus lurched to a start again, but he was not aware that he had missed his stop, as he stumbled over the core of what he was trying to say, "I was being watched the whole time, my flat was being watched, I was under surveillance from the Ministry. I didn't know what to do. But all of that is shit, isn't it? I should have rebelled sooner – there were underage kids at the Battle who fell through the cracks, that snuck in. That Creevey kid died, I mean, even Ginny chose to fight. And I hid –"

"Yeah. And you're hiding again," Dean said bluntly.

This was such an unexpected reply that a turn the bus took caught Percy unaware and he had to grab hold of a seat before he nearly tripped completely over, "I'm not hiding – I'm paying penance."

"I see," Dean did not sound convinced, but he shrugged, "And your family has to pay that penance too I guess?"

"My family are better off without me," Percy muttered.

Dean rolled his eyes at this, but said without any hint of spite, "You'll change your mind you know. Eventually. You'll see sense. I grew up a lot, running from the Snatchers. I guess you didn't."

Percy chewed his lower lip, as Dean folded his arms, leaning against the seat in front of him, "But tell me Percy, what am I to tell Ginny and Ron when I see them when I tell them I saw you?" he raised his eyebrow.

Percy looked at him thoughtfully. He noted that Dean never asked where he was staying or what he was doing, but _what do I tell Ginny and Ron?_

"Tell them… Tell them I'm heading to Europe. That I'm wanting to keep low in the Alps. That I've got a lot to think about," Percy replied carefully.

“Christ, Percy, you need to…” but Dean shrugged and pulled from his pocket a piece of paper with a number on it, "Alright, I won’t. But I won’t say I saw you either. But only if you promise to grow up a bit. And keep in contact with me – here's my telephone number… Was going to give it to a girl I fancy at a coffee shop I go to – do you know how to use one?"

"Yes," Percy said, taking it with the intention of throwing it out when he could.

"Don't throw it out," Dean said as if he'd read his mind, "You hear me? Call me and we'll hang out. I get wanting a break, I get the whole needing head space to think over things. After everything, I really do get that. And I think… I think you've got a lot of things to hold yourself accountable for, and who are we kidding? You can't sort all of that mess out clearly at home. But if you don't call me up Percy Weasley, I'm telling them where you are. The Alps – yeah, right. I grew up in Muggle London, I know the whole place. I can find you. And -" he smiled slightly, "I can help you get a job too."

Percy felt a lump in his throat. He managed to nod and say quietly, "Thank you, Dean."

"Nah, don't thank me. I'm not doing this for you, not really. I'm doing it for Ginny," he paused, "And the fact that you said sorry. Course, saying sorry means bugger all, you can't apologise for this sort of thing. You know that too since you made such a rubbish job of it. But the old Percy – Perfect Prefect Percy, would never have said sorry, and I appreciate the change. You're not a bad sort, you know. Just incredibly screwed up, like everyone is after all of this. Ginny, Ron, your mother - they need you back, Percy, but you've got to sort your shit out first."

Percy looked at him. Sort his shit out. No truer statement had been said.

“Yes,” Percy said, “Yes, I…”

By then Dean had evidently lost interest in the conversation as he turned his head and returned to his music. Percy awkwardly moved and stepped off the bus, as he bumped into a young woman with dark hair hanging down her shoulders and a fringe that framed her oval shaped face.

“Hey, it's you!” Her eyes brightened.

He went to apologise but realised that it was the woman from the bus journey on his first day. She was wearing the garish uniform of the diner she worked for.

“Oh, hello,” he managed to stumble out a greeting and then for some reason, “My socks aren’t interesting today,” he held up his ankle to show the bland, black sock.

She let out a laugh, and moved past to hurry aboard and for a few seconds they had an awkward type of dance as they tried to pass each other. When she managed to get on the bus he turned as she bought a ticket. “- Oh, um, au revoir!” he called out, but the doors were closing and she didn’t hear him and the moment was gone.

As the bus began to pass he heard a thump and noticed Dean had slammed a piece of paper to the window. Percy read what he had written, in capital and in multiple shades of green, with a spell that made the words shimmer: SMOOTH, PERCY. REAL SMOOTH.

Percy gave him an abashed little nod.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Chapter Twelve._ **

It was about the right time for a drink, Matty Feldman thought as he entered the Three Broomsticks. The perfect place to meet up with someone – and well - it was always a good time for a drink. He nodded politely to Rosmerta in greeting as he made his way through the labyrinth of tables and chairs and legs poking out and was pleased to see an empty table at the very back. His eyes fell absently on the people as he passed, turning his head at just the right moment so as not to have any conversations with people that might recognise him. He had perfected that talent to an art, him being such an anti-social old sod. He did however almost stop when he saw a particular witch he'd had his eye on for the past few months who smiled coyly at him, but this was an important meeting so he moved past.

He walked past a few of the Weasleys he vaguely knew. The old man Arthur and his sons – the dragon wrangler and the marred one, and vaguely overheard the older one sit back and let out a grunt, "I agree with Charlie, Dad. Fleur says it's worrying too. Perhaps some time in Mungos would..."

Whatever they were talking about went over Matty's head as he seated himself with relief at the empty table, then nervously took out the few photos from his coat pocket. Muggle and unmoving pictures, the lifeless images were all he had from his stolen family. The first one he took out was Belinda on their wedding day with flowers in her yellow hair and wearing that pretty shoulder length veil, leaning lovingly into him as he wore that horrendous suit and those wide framed glasses she had loved, calling him her "Buddy Holly". It had been the simplest wedding, having taken place in a registry office with barely any guests, with her family disapproving of the nuptials and his family having no idea he was marrying a Muggle. Their wedding car had been the local bus, and she had laughed as they had hopped on, tossing her simple bouquet to a passing child on the sidewalk as the bus started to move on its way, then had leaned into him shyly as the strangers on the bus hollered and whistled and clapped the newlyweds. They had shared a bowl of spaghetti and a loaf of garlic bread as their wedding feast at a local Italian joint, and he had reveled in everything Muggle. Everything that was to be his life. He was leaving magic and his lonely childhood behind, in exchange for music and colour and her.

He looked up as Rosmerta moved through the tables over to him, greeting him with a nod, "The usual, Matty?"

"Yeah, thanks love," he replied with a half smile, "You looked nervous over there by the counter. What's the matter?"

She sighed, then flicked her head over to the corner where several wizards surrounded a dart board, "It's just… I can handle ruffians, but the discontentment that's started to run through everything. I thought the celebrations would last a bit longer, and in a way it has, just - well. You can't go from blind fear to pure joy without some sort of bitter aftertaste as well, and with some of those articles that have been printed.. The Three Broomsticks used to be a warm place. Ah, never mind. When they start Hogwarts back up we'll get the influx of school kids again. They always cheer up the place," she then looked down at the photographs scattered around the table and she touched his shoulder gently, "Ah. You're starting up the search again?"

"Think I'm crazy?" he said roughly.

"Course not," she replied bluntly, "Don't be a fool," she picked up the photograph of the tiny little girl with chocolate hair, in a pair of denim overalls, holding up a spanner and surrounded by a mess of tools, her mouth had been open in mid sentence, "But she's not going to be a little girl if you find her again."

"Oh really?" was his answer with a snort, "Because I was under the impression time stood still."

"Don't be a cranky old louse. Anyway, who have you hired on the case?"

"Latinus Armstrong," Matty said with a shrug, "He's the best one there is. If anybody can find them, it'll be that bastard."

"Them…?" Rosmerta said uneasily, "You're looking for Belinda too?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Matty retorted, "She's my wife. Once I find Sylvie, I'll be able to talk to Belinda. And explain… Explain things. Help her to understand what I am. It was my fault... The magic frightened her off, I thought hiding it would be best, and then when she found out... I didn't handle it well. And maybe she's missing me…Maybe she's sorry and is looking for me too."

"Yeah…" the old barmaid did not seem convinced, but she did not press him any further, and before turning back to get his drink she said with a sniff, "But no more 'the usual' for you. If you want your happily ever after with Sylvie and Belinda, you need to start sobering up. None of this drinking yourself under the table nonsense. I'll get you a Butterbeer."

"You bloody well will not!" he called after her, "Or I'll start going to the Hog's Head!"

She ignored him and continued on and he swore under his breath at her. Only reason he came to this bleeding place was out of habit.

Latinus was late. The bloody mole. And he was in so much demand at the moment, he knew he could be.

He sighed. He missed Belinda. He missed Belinda and their little Sylvie. It had been so many years – it was seven years ago that he had stopped looking for them, realising that every dead end was driving him more and more mad. He had never used to drink so much. It was not only the fact that it was impossible to find them, but the realisation that the world he was living in was becoming more and more dangerous. Voldemort was on the rise, and so he had made the decision that he would let them remain hidden. At least until everything was over. And now, with the dawn of a new age of unification (he liked Kingsley, but lord the Ministry still spoke a lot of wank), it was over. He could start the search again if he chose.

He spread out another old photo. Belinda with her honey hair on one of her sober days (how had they survived all those drugs? Well. He could barely remember the 70s. He had heard someone once say those who remembered the 70s had never actually been there), with Sylvia on her hip – wearing her little romper suit of red with that Muggle Strawberry Shortcake emblazoned on the front. He sighed, looking at his wife. He had been blessed with an unmagical daughter – he had hoped that then his secret would never be revealed and they'd be the loving little dysfunctional family they were. Sylvie would have grown up with her struggling musician of a father, before he'd been a sell-out, and her flower child hippie of a mother. But instead he supposed she would have grown up on the run with her mother, frightened of the monster his poor Belinda would have believed he was and would have imparted on to her. His little Sylvie would have grown up petrified at the thought of him finding her. She probably would have had nightmares about him. His fist clenched resentfully at that. Why had Belinda _run?_

Sylvie would be a woman now – older than that famous Granger girl. Twenty one in June. It was not possible that she had survived mentally with such a childhood, of running from place to place. Where was she? Was she living somewhere? Was she homeless? Was she managing alright? And his heart twisted painfully – where was Belinda? Was she even alive? He hated her and he loved her and he hated her and he adored her. Hated her ferociously for running with his daughter and loved her endlessly. Belinda, where are you? Where did you take Sylvie?

He started tapping a tune with his fingers on the table impatiently, when he started to hear a ruckus at the dart board Rosmerta had mentioned. The Weasley lad – the one who had had his face torn apart by that Greyback seemed to be confronting two or three other lads. Matty then turned to Arthur who was standing helplessly at his table, while the dragon handler seemed to be pulling at his arm to go.

Everybody had turned quiet as they watched the scenario unfold, but Matty, feeling pity for Rosmerta and not wanting her tavern to turn into nothing more than a pile of woodchips stood and snaked his way through the tables over there just as one of them shoved Weasley back.

"Oi, oi!" Matty said firmly as he came up, "What's the matter here?"

"The matter?" the one who had shoved Weasley sneered, "Is we've got ourselves here a traitor, sticking up for one of the Ministry Dogs."

Ministry Dogs. The new term penned by the papers for the handful of people the public called the Officials who had done nothing and had been corrupted.

Weasley moved forward to retaliate physically to the shove but Matty held out his hand, "What, are you bonkers? He was in the bloody Order of the Phoenix with Dumbledore."

"Stay out of it," Weasley snapped at him unexpectedly, then looked harshly at the fellow assaulting him, "I said take down his photo before I hex you into oblivion!"

Matty looked to what they were all talking about, and instantly understood what was going on. Scattered over the board were photographs and newspaper clippings of all the Ministry Dogs, with darts stabbed through each one. Umbridge in her frightful pink and Fudge with his bowler hat were amongst the few, and there stood in another photograph, was the Weasley that had served the Ministry. With an overexcited grin and wearing a suit that Matty was sure he could not afford on such a wage was Percy Weasley, straightening his glasses on his freckled nose and smiling too much, like a kid who was unexpectedly chosen for the Quidditch team.

"He's my brother and you'll take it down!" Weasley said heatedly, "Out of respect for my dad if for nothing else! He was in the Order, he nearly died on a mission! Had a snake decide to make him his meal and here you are upsetting him!"

"Yeah well, maybe he shouldn't have raised such a useless son," another pelted back.

Matty this time had to get in between them as Weasley lunged forward and he said after pushing him back, "Take it down or I'll burn it down myself!"

"Sticking up for the arse kissing coward, Matty?" came a deriding remark.

"No actually, I'm not. I just think after everything the Weasleys did – including, you know, losing one of their own in the Battle, you could be a bit more considerate. And oh umm hmm, I'm certain that Percy was at the Battle, risking his own neck, which I'd say was a start at repenting. I'm also pretty certain in hearing that he fought valiantly even after having his brother die right by him. Where were you when the Battle took place? Snug in bed?"

"Not everybody knew the Battle was taking place, Matty –" one started defensively.

"Oh, yeah, you're right," Matty said indifferently, "Only the people who counted knew. Only the people who were really interested."

"Blah blah, sob story, blah blah," the other spat back, "But where is Weatherby now, huh? Can't face anyone after his history of being a traitor?"

Matty stared at the two men for a few moments before pulling out his wand, and without looking, burned the photograph up into ash including the darts, then he took Weasley by the arm and pulled him out.

By this time Arthur was outside with his other son, looking pale and haggard. His ginger hair, faded with age, looked disproportionately bright against his white face and he nodded at Matty wearily as he approached.

"Matty Feldman," he held out his hand.

Arthur took it and shook it, "Yes, I know who you are… Arthur Weasley. You’re the music producer. The tw-" he swallowed painfully and continued, "The twins told me all about you - you financed Potterwatch."

Matty shrugged uncomfortably, and watched while the marred Weasley paced around angrily.

Potterwatch. The one thing he had done good in his life, financing the underground network during the war with Voldemort. There wasn't much he could do – he'd make a useless warrior, he didn't want to join something and know secrets about people – he wasn't sure whether he could trust himself to keep them if interrogated under torture. There was no use pretending he could be noble under those sorts of circumstances. Nobody could really say such a thing about themselves until they were in that sort of situation and it was the idiots who claimed they would be brave who were the ones to first piss their pants and weasel out everybody to save their own skins. He was just a stupid little music producer. But his love for music had always given him the knowledge that words were powerful. Ideas were powerful. Those Order people could go about on their top secret missions and that was all well and good, but spreading the truth to the common people was just as important. The Daily Prophet and the Wizarding Wireless Network were all full of lies, but Potterwatch had spread the truth. Spreading the truth meant people talked. People talking meant more resistance. And just as music could revolutionize whole nations, so could Potterwatch.

He had been taken in of course by the Death Eaters. He had supposed it was only a matter of time really that they found out he was funding it. He had not known they would bother to give him attention though, he had thought he had not been important enough and they would have just disposed of him.

"Matty, Matty, _Matty,"_ he had heard one of them say, his voice only slightly muffled behind the full face mask, "What mischief have you been up to?"

Matthew looked around groggily after waking from being knocked out. His body was bruised and ached.

"Ah," he had said calmly, "Why haven't you killed me yet? I'm just small bickies to you lot, aren't I?" He was genuinely confused why he was still alive. A financier of an underground network was indeed a small problem. A small problem which could be taken care of easily.

"Thought you'd like to know - we've found your little Syyyyylvie," the other masked Death Eater said in a sing-song mocking tone.

For one moment his face gave him away as his heart rammed into his rib cage. His little girl – his daughter. The bastards had her! They had found – 

Sense cleared his mind however, and he even managed to smile slightly, "Now that was a stupid thing to tell me."

He felt a blow to his head and had to balance himself as dizziness threw him off, and when he came back to his senses, he could see a young woman with a mess of dark hair being thrust into the room. She was sobbing wretchedly in fright as they forced her to her knees, her eyes bulging not comprehending the stick-like objects being pointed at her. A poor clueless Muggle girl. Matthew felt sick. Oh, lord no…

"We have her! Now do you want her to die?"

The girl cried and looked at him pleadingly, "Please – do as they say – they'll kill me!" and she shrieked as a bolt of pain hurled through her as the stick launched some sort of attack on her. Crimson blood spattered down her nose and she whimpered.

Matthew was ashamed to say he was inwardly shaking but he managed to keep his voice cool and calm, "None of you idiots could track after her like me. And even I can't find her now."

"It's your daughter, Matty," one of them taunted him and grabbed the girl's hair, yanking her head back, "Look, she even has your eyes!"

Another said with false reassurance, "Look. Make some - changes - to your little station, and we'll let you and Sylvie go."

"Changes?" Matthew said confused, "Changes… Wait… You…Need me?"

"Everybody is dispensable," came another Death Eater's voice, defensively, not wanting the hostage to know of his power.

Slowly it began to dawn on Matthew. They knew the power of words too… They needed Potterwatch, to assemble the few renegades. To try and win them back.

"Yes," Matthew said gaining confidence, "But you'd rather you could keep me. See, spattering impure blood you don't care about, but... If you can spare as much magical blood as you can... And I'm helping spread ideas. It would be one thing to do to shut the station down, and it would be easy to do so. But you've decided you would use it as your own tool… And what better way than have the financier demand just a few slight alterations? Subtle of course, at first…" he then said sharply, "Find me my Sylvie, and I'll listen."

The Death Eaters looked at each other and Matthew laughed, "Not really the brightest lot, are you? I wouldn't have really, but I just got as good as a confession that that poor girl isn't mine!"

One of them shrugged, "Well, you can watch an innocent be tortured, then," and raised his wand.

"Now, you don't want to go about harming an innocent girl," Matthew answered quickly, "I don't like to see innocent girls hurt, not one bit. And you want to keep me happy. If I'm happy I can do things for you."

"Or we could simply make you do what we want."

"Ah, right," Matthew replied, "Magic and all that... Shame though. I set about doing things so that if you mess with my head... well, let's just say there's not much in there right now to begin with," he was bluffing of course but he hoped they were stupid enough to buy it. Like he had thought before – he wasn't really that important in the scheme of things. Perhaps the Death Eaters that had been assigned to take him weren't too bright.

"What?" one asked confused.

"He's saying he removed his memories, you idiot!" another hissed.

"Ohh, aren't we the detective? Good use of cognitive thought, mister abductor," Matthew said cockily.

"Shut up!" his comment was paid with another painful blow to his head.

He did not wish to remember the torture that had been inflicted upon him or the torture he had had to watch. He was still scarred from it.

He had not noticed he had been staring at one in particular as he lay weak, until they had yelled, "Why do you keep staring at me? Stop that!"

He closed his eyes for a moment, then laughed feebly, "Sorry... Thought I'd heard your voice somewhere before... Maybe I took out that memory too... Removed important things, you know. Places, plans... people working in secret with me."

"Shut the hell up!" the Death Eater yelled shrilly, "Don't you suggest-"

"Suggest? Who's suggesting?" he said tiredly, though amused, "Only an enquiry. I don't know who you are. I don't know much of who anyone is right now. You could be a bad guy... maybe. Most likely. I'm sure they're fond of you in your dark circles... Yes, I'm positive you're oozing with evil."

He had paid heavily for that. He had managed to escape of course, and take the girl, but his body had paid. He had had to obliterate those awful memories from that poor Muggle girl when they were safe so she wouldn't remember anything. He still dreamed of her twitching and sobbing body in his arms.

He found himself turning his wand over in his hands, a habit he had gotten into, sadly looking at the musical notes carved into the wood, while the angry one prowled. He vaguely wondered if he had always been like this, or if it had been since the wolf had gotten at him. Matty shook his head back to the present.

"Look… Um… Don't worry about them idiots," he said uneasily, "They don't know loss. Otherwise they wouldn't be such imbeciles."

"It's a surreal feeling, Mr. Feldman," Arthur said absently, "To lose children. I don't know what's worse… Death or one who's left without a trace. I'm sorry, I'm rambling, I'm sorry…"

"Come on Dad," the dragon tamer took Arthur's arm and tipped his hat at Matty. A silly little hat with wings on the sides, "Let's go home."

The Weasley clan turned and started to walk away, and Matty called out, "Weasley! I'll send an owl sometime this week. Come over to my place and we can have a drink without imbeciles around."

To be honest he didn't know why he said such a thing. He knew of the Weasleys of course, especially the twins. He winced still, thinking of the one who had died. But there had been something in what Arthur had said that had resounded with Matty. It must hurt to have a child willfully run. The aftermath of the Battle made people do crazy things. Who knows, if Latinus ever found Sylvie, perhaps he could find the Weasley renegade too?

Speak of the devil, Matty thought, as he heard a friendly greeting behind him. He waved at the Weasleys and turned to the slimy rodent he had hired to play private detective, and without reciprocating the greeting, he turned back and stormed into the Three Broomsticks with a grunt, "Well what took you so long?"


	13. Chapter 13

**_Chapter Thirteen._ **

Percy had not been aware that he was screaming until the pounding on his door woke him properly from his nightmare. He sat up in bed groggily, immediately realising he had tangled himself in the bed sheets. It took a few moments to free himself and he staggered to the door, unlocking it and opening it, mumbling to the man who was staying in the next room his apologies.

"Bloody hell, this is the third night in a row mate," his disgruntled neighbour said to him, "I'm not meaning to be a prick, but either start drinking yourself into oblivion so you have a dreamless night or I'm complaining to management."

Percy nodded and rubbed his eyes tiredly, closing the door. The bloody nightmares had started up again. He had always suffered from them – he had been told as a boy it was from an overactive, anxious mind – but it seemed from recent incidences to have re-emerged even worse. It was usually the explosion that had killed Freddie. The images weren't really ever clear, but just explosion after explosion then seeing his brother lying broken and lifeless.

Or Penny's sobs as the Dementors took her after her trial, where he had…

Or Morgan. He dreamed about her too. He had known that very night at the battle, as he had carried her body up to where all the other bodies were being kept that carrying his dead childhood friend would haunt his sleep, but he couldn't leave her out there, where Merlin knows what could happen to her body. Wizard battles were never paint-by-numbers affairs. The earth could rip in half and he wouldn't let his treasured Slytherin become lost. Sometimes he dreamt of stepping over bodies. There were so many subjects his subconscious seemed to take great delight in relieving. Tonight's recollections weren't important, and he willingly let it slip away from him to forgetfulness. He didn't want to think about it, they were all the same nowadays, all focused on death.

It looked like another night of barely any sleep as he made himself a pot of coffee. He looked at his pocket watch – 4am. Well… Five hours sleep was what he had had to deal with quite a lot when he had worked at the Ministry, in the busiest days. It could be worse.

To comfort himself he dressed in an old pair of dress robes and slipped on a toque hat, an olive green small, round, close fitting hat that made him feel like his father. He sat by his bed and let the tears fall. He felt a flick to his ear and shook his head as if ridding himself of a nuisance fly. He needed to get sleep. From his things he fumbled for the CD Walkman and pressed play, listening to Cat Stevens.

_Ohh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world. It’s hard to get by, just upon a smile._

More tears fell. He felt something cool upon his face and he slipped into dreamless sleep, his coffee turning cold, untouched.

He woke hours later on the floor by his bed. It was nearing 10. He got up and stretched.

Enough was enough was enough was enough was enough.

He needed a job. Dean had said with such confidence that he could help him with that, perhaps he had something in mind. He thought of the young man and remembered when he had been so small, arguing fervently with Ron at the long dining table about the superiority of Muggle soccer over Quidditch.

Well, 10am was a respectable hour to call and he stood and looked at the telephone over on the desk. Right. This couldn’t be too hard. He had remembered Bill and Charlie stealing an old one from Dad’s shed and calling different numbers. If Percy remembered correctly, Bill had even managed to wrangle a date with a muggle girl with one of those calls. Mum had flipped – it had always been a family rule, no dating Muggle girls till they had turned twenty one, when they would be serious about any relationship, thereby being less of a risk telling them about magic. He found Dean’s phone number and taking it over to where the telephone was, he sat on the chair, fidgeting with Penny's ribbon as he cradled the receiver between his ear and shoulder, and dialed the number on a placard on the wall that allowed him to make calls outside of the motel, then carefully dialed the number Dean had given him.

The ringing tone purred in his ear, and he inwardly felt a kick of joy that he had managed it correctly.

The phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

"Told you, I'm not answering again Jamie, stop calling!" what seemed like a young girl answered, laughing in delight.

"… Hello?" Percy asked uncertainly. Had he called the wrong number after all?

"Oh!" the young girl sounded embarrassed, "Sorry, I thought you were my friend calling back –" Percy heard in the background a woman reprimanding the girl on how to answer the phone properly, "-Yeah, I know Mum," the girl protested, "I thought it was Jamie calling back again!"

"Hello…?" Percy repeated, now even more uncertain.

"Hi!" was the reply, "Who's this?"

"I'm Percy Weasley –" Percy swore at himself inwardly, he had forgotten for a moment to use his new name, "– I was wondering if I could please speak to Dean Thomas?"

There was a silence and Percy was about to repeat himself when the girl quickly yelled out, making Percy wince at the shout in his ear, "Daaaaaaaaad!"

Soon there was another voice, an older and deeper one, "Yes? Hello? Can I help you?"

"Hello," Percy said again, "Is Dean there, please? Have I… Have I got the wrong number?"

"Dean?" the man said vaguely, "Look, who is this? My daughter said some Weasley fellow, are you Ronald?"

"No –" Percy paused for a bit, but then thought to Hell with it, "I'm his brother, Percy. An acquaintance of Dean, he told me to call –"

"Look," Percy was interrupted by this man, "This is Dean's Step-Dad. He's not here right now, alright?"

He heard the woman in the background asking quiet questions but could imagine the man gesturing her to be quiet as Percy said, "Oh, but this is Dean's number then? I'll – I'll call back at a later time –"

"No," the man said quite emphatically, "Concerning you lot… Dean doesn't live here, alright? Don't call back here ever again."

"But –" Percy began, confused.

He could hear something odd going on down the end of the line; then he heard the woman's voice, "I just got my son back. Please! Just leave us alone and don't call back!"

There was a click and Percy sat there puzzled.

"Hello?" he shook the phone, "Hello?"

He put the receiver back on the cradle, then picked it up and called again.

The phone rang; then it was picked up.

"I'm incredibly sorry," Percy began, "I'm not very good with these telephones, I think the line cut off –"

"Leave us alone!" the woman's voice was shrill and panicked, and this time Percy could not ignore that the sound of the click and the end of the conversation had indeed been deliberate.

He sat there as a feeling of cold helplessness rose up within him. He had not realised it due to the fact he did not want to see anybody, but that lifeline with Dean had in fact given him a little hope. And now that hope had been severed. He couldn't blame the family, not one bit. He would have done the same.

What the hell was he going to do?

He stood up and paced around a bit to calm himself. How the hell was he going to do this? How the hell was he realistically going to do this?

Maybe he should go back. Maybe he could go back. Who was he kidding? He had screwed up working for Barty Crouch, he had made an abominable mess with Fudge – he had proven time and time again he could not work independently. Who was he to ever think that he could even masquerade as a Muggle?

But he couldn't go back either…

He had run off for close to three years once before and been forgiven… But running off again so soon after being forgiven and missing Fred's funeral... Bill had always made him nervous when he had been angry. He was one of the best, fairest and most loyal people one could ever meet and wouldn't hold a grudge, but when he got particularly upset… And Mum – how could he face his mother again? Or his dad? Or anybody?

No. The thought was ridiculous. He would live on the streets of Muggle London if he had to rather than going back and facing all that hurt.

He remembered that back home there had been advertisements for jobs in the Daily Prophet. Surely the Muggle system must be similar? Changing into a button up shirt and trousers he had managed to find yesterday for the purpose of interviews, he went downstairs and bought a newspaper. Going back upstairs he unfurled the paper. Right. Work mode. To get into the mood, he found a waistcoat he had used to wear for work and buttoned it over his shirt. Standing by the mirror, he attached his golden pocket watch he had received on his coming of age. Well. It wasn’t quite Ministry wear, but he felt more himself.

He remembered Darius, who in spite of being a Ravenclaw, had still always managed to charm the Fat Lady into letting him in the Common Room regularly, and "for the benefit of the Gryffindor gentlefolk" he had provided hair tips in the common room. He had been so over-the-top with his performed vanity that he had put it to use as a comedy act, and he had been so well-liked even by the teachers with his natural charisma that he had even started a petition to become Professor Snape's personal stylist. Percy still had no idea how Darius had survived _that –_ only someone like Darius could have. Perhaps it was because he had charmed most of the Slytherin girls in their year to sign it, so Professor Snape had let it pass as a harmless joke. Either that or Darius had had the Devil's luck. The last time Percy had seen him he had been prancing through the battle at Hogwarts with such elegant poise for the benefit of Percy whenever he spotted him, flourishing his wand, "Reckon this would count as experience for any action roles in Muggle films, Perce? I've already had a couple of cameos, they love me! They say I'm absolutely _bewitching!"_ he laughed at himself.

One time in the common room Percy had been walking through to the portrait hole, when to the amusement of the assembled fan club, Darius had called out, "Perce, Perfect Perce! Come here, let me style your hair – come on!"

"I think I'd rather consume a jar of pickled toads, Darius," he had answered walking through, holding his books closer to his chest self-consciously.

But not to be outdone Darius had rushed over to him, "Come _on,_ look pretending you're one of the commoners will do wonders for your school career, Perfect," he patted his shoulder, "It all helps if you want to be head boy next year!"

Percy sighed and looked back at the group waiting, all whistling and calling for him to come over. He looked helplessly back at Darius who's face seemed to soften in understanding, and he lowered his voice so nobody else could hear, "I promise I'm not making fun… Come on, you've got to lighten up a little."

The way he had managed to get the group to call him over with no trace of teasing mockery, but actual genuine attention – little Ginny being one of them, looking so excited – was what made Percy give in.

Afterwards for the first time he had been met in the school corridors with wolf whistles, but his smile had faltered when he had gone to find Penny who had laughed loudly and had thrown her arms around him, "What have you done to your hair? You're not supposed to be _cool,_ you're my Percy!"

He had gone to the Prefect bathroom and had washed out the gunk at once. She'd been right… It wasn't him at all.

But for some odd reason after school he had always had a jar of hair gel with him and had thrown it in his trunk when he had left home. And he felt an impulsive rush to be creative. Why the hell not? Nobody knew him here… And perhaps, if looking for work, then maybe it would serve him well.

So, before he sat down to search for employment that morning he took the jar out, and with a handful of gel he spread it out evenly over his red hair, making it all flat. "Not too much," he had remembered Darius saying, "You don't want Mrs. Norris following you in mistaking you for Filch, with all the grease."

Once that step was done he shook his head, then with his fingers evened out the kinks, spiking them. He had to grin at his reflection – well, Ginny would certainly be proud. "That's my brother!" he had heard her pipe up after Darius had finished with him those years ago.

Right. Dressed well, I can conquer the world.

Firstly, he needed to write a set of résumés.

He had no idea what sort of work was available. Perhaps a managerial position for a small business? He could deal with that, starting from the bottom of the ladder was not beneath him. With something to occupy him, he felt a thrill of adrenaline. His résumé wouldn't be very big at all, but with the papers of a school Latinus had created for him and with a few of the references it wouldn't be that bad. He was twenty two this year, but apparently it seemed to be the fashionable thing for young people to travel around for a couple of years if they could, working odd jobs here and there, so he could use that sort of excuse if it wasn't as well filled in as an employer would hope for. A couple of his traits were eagerness and confidence, and dressed well as he was, it shouldn't be too bad.

From his trunk he pulled out his writing desk. When he had been given the promotion as Fudge's assistant he had bought himself one of his few luxuries. It was a writing box layered with Brazilian rosewood and was banded with brass, with gold handles on the side. He opened it up on his lap to reveal the writing surface inlaid with soft claret coloured satin, and from underneath was a space where he took out a bottle of navy blue ink, his goose-quill pen and some sheets of pure white paper. Under the last space there was a couple of secret drawers revealed by a spring mechanism, but right now he had no need or want for any of his hidden valuables. While consulting his papers from Latinus he set about writing multiple copies of résumés. Loosening his wrist, the ink flourished and flicked over the crisp white into beautiful, wide curves. It had become the fashion for young wizards and witches to leave the odd spatter of ink as some sort of modern casual working aesthetic, but honestly, he had always found that vastly unprofessional. When he was finished he slipped the papers into separate clear plastic sleeves, and set them aside to unfurl the newspaper.

He found the job section easily. Ah. He had been right. His eyes scanned over all the advertisements and he tapped his chin as he looked for ones not needing much experience. There was help needed requested at some sort of supermarket. He picked up the telephone to inquire.

“Yes, thank you,” he said each time he called one of those places, “I was wondering if… Oh… Bagging groceries…? I see… Are there any managerial positions? Even Junior… Well, no, I have never worked in retail, but…”

No luck.

His finger stopped at some sort of tour guide company for a Jack the Ripper. He picked up the telephone again and called, and after getting through to somebody, he began, “Actually, I am not familiar with this character… Oh, there is a script? Marvelous, I am able to learn very quickly… So, when you say Ripper… Yes… Pardon, excuse me? Are you to tell me these women were murdered…? When was this? A century ago?... And this Jack was the culprit? Oh, you don’t know who Jack was…? It was an unsolved…? Don’t you have some sort of law enforcement? The applicant is to pretend to be the murderer?? I would hardly call… No, this isn’t Tobias pulling your leg. Hello? Hello?”

Well. Right then.

He called several more places without luck. Perhaps if he tread the pavement a little. He shouldered into a coat and pocketed the plastic sleeves away. As usual he placed a little bit of money in his trousers pocket, and Penny's ribbon, and took the CD Walkman for whiling away the journey, and away he went.

For several hours he walked around the city of London, inquiring and leaving copies. His fervent enthusiasm was met with indifference at best, silent disdain at worst. He did not understand. The more polite he was, the more they seemed to dislike him.

He began to wilt as he came across some sort of restaurant with medieval music spilling out whenever patrons entered, but he stopped curiously at a sign on the window. “Wanted: Kings Herald. Inquire at back.” … He hesitated, then moved to walk down the narrow alley. He stopped as he came across a young woman in a long-sleeved gown of emerald and sable, with pearls upon the bodice, and her hair tucked under a headdress.

She was holding a cigarette as she leaned back against the brick wall. “My break isn’t over yet,” she said defensively.

“Oh… Yes… I… I’m just here to inquire after the position of king’s herald?”

“Ohhhh,” she flicked her cigarette and stubbed it out under her heel, “Sorry, you just had the look of a form teacher.”

“Oh, im sorry,” he said awkwardly, pushing his glasses up, “That’s just my face.”

“No worries,” she turned and gestured to him to follow, “You can’t be worse than Katherine. Not headless Catherine, she’s a laugh. Come this way. You're in luck, he's desperate. Although, maybe you wouldn't call it luck.”

She led him through a back door and through a hallway and poked her head through a door, "Mr. Grey, there’s someone here for Nick’s old job."

"Well, let him in," Percy heard a booming voice from behind the door.

The girl nodded to the door for Percy with a wink, then moved off, leaving Percy to enter by himself.

Inside sat a stout and balding man with a haze of cigarette smoke around him. He barely looked up at Percy, as Percy moved forward hurriedly, holding out his hand, "Good morning, Sir! Firstly I would like to thank you immensely for taking the time to…" his voice trailed involuntarily as the man ignored him, turned his head and spat into a bucket. This was such an unexpected move that Percy lost his train of thought, and stared at the man in shock.

"Right, well, I'm Mr. Grey," the man ignored Percy's hand, and Percy let it drop to his side awkwardly, "Fill these out and give them to Clarisse on your first shift in two days time, then she'll show you your roster. She'll also show you the choreography."

"…Choreography?" Percy stared at the man, all of his confidence vanished, “Pardon – wait – I – don’t you want to ask me questions? I... I have a resume.”

He passed it over and the man eyed the calligraphy in disbelief, then looking up he saw the earnestness in the young man, and the fancy pocket watch upon his vest, and sighed, gesturing him to sit.

Percy sat.

“… Right. Weatherby, hey? What brings you to this er, esteemed establishment.”

“Well, Sir, I –”

Someone poked his head in, “Mr. Grey, Tony’s drunk again.”

“What of it?” the boss burst out impatiently, then wearily, “It’s a medieval banquet, yeah? If he sicks up in their soup it’s all part of the experience… Call it historical accuracy," he sighed when the person left, "Save me from these student actors,” he eyed Percy, “Are you an actor, Weatherby?”

“… No.”

“Bloody perfect. Right. So. You want questions. Well, um. Do you have any special kind of skill sets or something?”

“… Well,” Percy swallowed, “Well. I can read and speak Latin fluently. That seems to be… Historically relevant.”

“Yeah?” he sniffed as if he had something caught up there, “Say something.”

With a completely neutral face, Percy intoned, “Potes meos suaviari clunes.” _You can kiss my backside_ , and went on, “It’s a… Sonnet. About physical affection.”

Mr. Grey smiled, “I like you. You’re a wanker. They’re always fun. What else you got?”

Percy started to feel a bit feverish from the ridiculousness of all this, “I was in a frog choir at school.”

“A what?”

Percy couldn’t hold back a reckless laugh, “You can’t make them sing, not really, and it's all in the way you hold them. They respond to the feel of the beat.”

Mr. Grey side eyed him, then bust out laughing, “So. _Ye Olde Banquet_ prides itself on being a good ol-fashioned wholesome respectable whatever the hell you call it place where people can bring their families for mutton, bad ale and even worse entertainment. Every hour, on the hour, you staff do a dance on the tables, nothin' that difficult or anythin'. We'll go slack on you for the first couple of weeks, but that's all. You've got to be in your costume all the time. You’ll need to be measured for your tabard. And then for birthdays and things, the kiddies choose their favourite members and they have to sing to them. Got that? Oh, and given you’re the herald you get a script to memorise as well. Nothin too hard, engagement notices, birthdays, the incestuous crimes of the Boleyns, got that?" 

Percy stared at him.

“You got any problems in rambling out rubbish, Weatherby?” Mr. Grey asked.

Percy was shell shocked, but managed an “Oh no, I’m well versed in rubbish, Sir.”

“… Yeah. I’m sure you are,” he held out his hand, “Well? Will you be joining our team?”

Percy swallowed.

On one hand, there had to be some sort of mistake… He had been the junior assistant of the Minister of Magic. He – he had _dignity._

But on the other. He – he had no bloody choice. He needed work.

Well. Carpe Vinum. Seize the wine. He shook Mr. Grey’s hand, and got up.

“Thank you, Sir,” he turned to leave.

“No need to thank me,” the older man replied, then grinned, and said fluently, “Audentes fortuna iuvat, right?” Fortune favours the bold. 

The vulgar older man speaks it fluently too.

Mr. Grey laughed as the realisation dawned on his new employee’s face, and Percy turned and bolted.

Mr. Grey looked down at the résumé the young man had left behind, and chortled some more before shoving it away. He'll call the references later. Yeah. Wankers were always fun.


End file.
